


Time to Free the Monster

by rinkle



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 100,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinkle/pseuds/rinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don Eppes starts acting out of character and putting lives at risk. Has he had a psychotic break, is this who he always really has been, or is there something more going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time to Free the Monster chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Time to Free the Monster
> 
> Rating: R
> 
> Genre: Het
> 
> Pairings: Don/Robin, Charlie/Amita, past Don/Liz
> 
> Characters: Don, Robin, David, Liz, Alan, Bradford, Colby, Nikki, Charlie, Amita and McGowan.
> 
> Spoilers: All of season 6, set after 6.12 Arm in Arms
> 
> Warnings: Violence, sexual violence (including varying degrees of sexual assault (m/f, m/m)-somewhat graphic), discussion/thoughts of suicide, some swearing. More explicit details on sexual assault warning can be found at my livejournal (linked in my userinfo).
> 
> Word count: ~100,000 total
> 
> Disclaimer: Do not own, not being paid. All for fun! Some dialogue taken directly from episodes in season 6 (mostly the last episode)-I do not own this dialogue.
> 
> A/N: Thank you to ALEO for alpha reading as I was writing and giving invaluable speculation, encouragement and advice on the story. Thank you to krazykitkat for alpha reading as I was writing and giving encouragement. Thank you to munchkinofdoom and pixie_on_acid for taking on the huge task of betaing. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Summary: Don Eppes starts acting out of character and putting lives at risk. Has he had a psychotic break, is this who he always really has been, or is there something more going on?
> 
> * * *

Chapter 1

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." Friedrich Nietzsche

"There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man." Polybius

...

"Some wine?" Don asked with a grin, laugh lines around his eyes crinkling. He gestured with a flourish to the already opened bottle and didn't wait for Robin's response, pouring a generous glass before handing it to her.

She took a sip, revelling in the taste and how comfortable and loved she felt. Her hair was still wet from the decadent shower she'd taken with Don and was hanging loosely down her back. Decadent, as he'd washed her hair for her and given her a scalp massage. She snuggled further into the warmth of her favourite light-grey sweater. The sofa was just the right size for tucking her jeans-clad legs up underneath her, feet warmed by the foot rub Don had just finished, and still leave Don room to join her. If she were a cat, she would have been purring with how happy she felt.

Don made to move away to the kitchen, to retrieve a beer no doubt, but Robin protested, entwining her fingers in his before he could move away.

"No, Don. Please, have some wine with me."

He mock-strained against her grip for a second before giving in. "Okay, but only because you're a pretty lady." There was laughter in his voice as he grinned at her again.

Her nose wrinkled as she smiled, feeling a little embarrassed but warmed at his playful words. "Stop that."

He'd taken the idea of the day being for her to a ridiculous extreme, although she wasn't above exploiting it, as proven by her requests for the foot rub and him to stay away from the beer.

Don settled down beside her, pulling her sideways into his arms. They sat, drinking their wine, Don occasionally pressing a kiss to her hair, and in the comfort and safety of his arms, Robin began to feel a little dizzy and drowsy. The feeling came over her quickly, surprising in its intensity, but Don was to her rescue again, pulling the glass gently out of her fingers. She tried to rouse herself when she heard a crash, but it didn't work, whatever was making her sleep was too strong and she fell into oblivion.

* * *

Waking up was hard, her mind slow. Robin was cold and there was something that tasted like crap in her mouth. She hadn't had _that_ much to drink, she was pretty sure. Panic immediately blossomed when she realised she couldn't move, her arms and legs held in place by something. She opened her eyes, screams trying to escape from around the gag that she'd realised was in her mouth, body bucking as she tried to free her arms and legs. A terrified look around the room showed her that she was in her bedroom, tied to her bed and stripped to her panties and bra.

Don sat at the bottom of the bed intently watching her, his face blank. Panic gave way to fury. They'd tried restraining her once, and only once, during sex. She'd freaked out and he'd immediately untied her. For some reason it didn't bother him to be restrained occasionally, even with all his control-freak issues, but he knew how much it scared her. She swore at him through the gag, calling him every name she could think of as she continued to struggle. The last thing she remembered was sitting in his arms on the couch, drinking wine. Ignoring the why, how the hell had she managed to fall that deeply asleep that he could carry her upstairs to her bedroom, strip her and tie her down? She couldn't have... _Oh, God._

A spike of pure terror shot through her. She'd been drugged, it was the only explanation. _Don drugged me._ She denied the thought. _Don loves me, Don would never hurt me like this. He_ loves _me._ But Don was still just sitting there, studying her like she was a bug caught in a web and he was the spider, waiting for her struggles to grow weak. Ignoring the tears that flowed down her cheeks from fury and fear. Ignoring the fact that every time she struggled she was rubbing her ankles and wrists raw. Ignoring the screams that tried to pass through the gag. Ignoring the fact that she was terrified out of her mind and he was deliberately hurting her.

She'd never been able to understand when the spouse or partner of someone she was prosecuting for a violent crime said that they'd never seen it coming, that they couldn't believe that the person could be capable of it. How could they be so blind to something so major and terrible? How could they still deny it in the face of all the evidence? Now she understood. She'd have never thought that the man who'd rubbed her feet, liked snuggling down with her and watching old movies, held her in his arms after they had sex, who'd saved her life, who _loved_ her could ever do something like this. Part of her still denied that he could, despite all the evidence to the contrary. But there was nobody else here to force him to do this, to force him to hurt her. It was all Don.

Don stood up and walked around the bed until he stood beside her chest. Robin's eyes remained on his, drawn into his gaze, searching for something to explain why he'd done this to her, to indicate that something else was going on, but there was nothing there. The bed dipped as he sat down beside her, his hand reaching out to touch her face. She wanted to whimper and shrink away from him but she forced herself to remain still as he touched her face, fingertips ghosting down her cheek in a grotesque parody of a caress. What looked like a brief flash of remorse washed over Don's expression, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the blank gaze and slack features that she'd seen when she'd first woken up. His fingers didn't stop on her cheek, instead they skimmed down her throat and stopped just above the swell of her breast, resting lightly against her sweaty skin. This time she couldn't prevent the whimper and recoil at the sense of violation, disgust and pure fear that the intimate contact evoked in her. The fact that Don's touch shouldn't evoke such feelings added to the intensity. She didn't even want to think about the possibility, but she had to; the word wouldn't leave her mind. Rape.

"So beautiful."

Don's words were quiet, almost reverent. She'd started crying again, unable to control the outpouring of fear. Her nose was starting to clog up and her breath caught in her throat. The coughing fit that it resulted in was scary, the gag and her lack of movement making it feel harder to breathe. Don's hands had moved to near her head, hovering above her almost like he was trying to figure out how to help. When she finally dragged in and out some semi-even breaths she glared at him with as much venom as she could summon. He had no right to care about her, not now, not with what he was doing to her.

Don stared at her for a few seconds before his hand abruptly raised and he slapped her across the cheek. The blow was stinging and snapped her head towards the side. The shock hurt almost as much as the slap did and expelled the tiny bit of her that still believed that the man she loved couldn't hurt her. She turned her head back to face him, knowing that the only thing she had left was defiance in the face of whatever he was going to do to her. He'd drugged and stripped her, tied her up, touched her and hit her. If he let her go, she'd go to the police, no matter what he threatened. He had to know that. Which meant he wasn't going to let her go. Her jaw trembled with the realisation. From the moment she'd woken up, it had been there in her mind, but from the second that she'd seen that it was Don who was doing this to her, she'd buried it back as far as she could. _Don wouldn't do that, Don can't be doing this._

He was going to kill her.

TBC...


	2. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Robin couldn't stop shaking and sobbing, her resolve to be defiant breaking. She didn't want to die. She didn't want whatever Don intended to do to her before he killed her to happen, either. The realisation and fear must have shown in her eyes, because he brushed his hand across her forehead, moving her sweaty hair off her face, and wiped the tears away from under her eyes, calloused fingers tender. It shouldn't have been comforting, should have repulsed her as the caress of her cheek and chest had, but on some level her body responded to it the way it had before. Before he'd revealed exactly what sort of man he was.

"Shhhh. You know you want this."

Don leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, a brief brush of lips. She closed her eyes, unable to deal with the way he seemed to switch back and forth between seeming almost caring and then violent. The bed shifted, Don's weight no longer on it, and she opened them again, needing to know where he was and what he was going to do. He was standing, just looking at her like he had when she'd first woken up, his eyes empty. Cold and uncaring, not the man she thought she'd known. Abruptly he turned away and walked out of the door, leaving her alone.

She tried to calm down and search the room with her eyes for anything that could help her or shed some light on why Don had flipped out or what he intended. The shades had been pulled on the window and the lack of light coming from outside and the time on her clock told her that it was just after two in the morning. She'd been unconscious for close on six hours. Whatever he'd drugged her with had to have been in the wine. _Oh, God. That's why he'd tried to get a beer. And then pulled me into his arms. I couldn't see how much he wasn't drinking of the wine._

There was something on her bedside table and when she identified it she drew in a shuddering breath. Don's gun. Did he intend to use it on her? It was enough to bring the tears forth again but she fought against them. His cell and handcuffs were beside them. If she could get herself untied somehow, she could use his phone to call for help. And his gun to defend herself. It would save her having to get her own out of the gunsafe. She couldn't hesitate if she had the opportunity. She couldn't. Even though it was Don. She twisted her head up to look at her right wrist. A blue scarf had been used to tie it to the posts on her headboard, as had been used with her left. It looked like the material had been twisted and she knew that it had been tied tight from her earlier struggles and how sore her wrists felt. Scarves had also been used on her ankles. The only hope she had was if the carved wooden posts in the headboard weren't joined on to the rest of the headboard as well as her sinking stomach told her they were. She wrapped her hands around the scarves and yanked as hard as she could, bringing her arms as close together as they would go. She kept it up for five minutes, tugging against the headboard with all her strength, but it didn't budge at all. Closing her eyes, she took a break.

What had Don been doing while she was unconscious for that long a time? Obviously he'd had to carry her upstairs and undress her. _Could he have..._ She didn't feel sore or sticky, so she didn't think he had...raped...her while she was unconscious. He could have touched her all over, she shuddered, but she didn't think he'd raped her. Don hurting her was still a difficult concept to get her mind around, still felt as much unreal as it felt incredibly real. But what had he done the rest of the time? Had he just waited for her to regain consciousness, sitting there watching her? The thought made her shudder again. And why was this happening now?

They'd been happy; or at least, she'd thought they'd been happy. He'd spoiled her all day only to do this to her now. Why? She knew that people could hide their true natures. Don had hidden his well, she'd never suspected a damn thing. _You know you want this._ Don had to know that she didn't want this, didn't want to be tied up, and maybe that was what this was all about. Was kinky sex what he wanted, what had tipped him over the edge? Drugging her the only way he'd be able to get it? She thought back to that night when he'd tried tying her up. He hadn't seemed disappointed when she'd freaked out and he'd untied her. The only emotion she'd been able to see was worry for her. But maybe she'd been blind to anything else. _I've been blind to this._

Robin heard footsteps in the hall outside the bedroom and her heart started to beat faster. He was coming back and she wouldn't be able to stop him doing whatever he wanted to do. She frantically struggled against the restraints but stopped when he reached the door, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her terrified by his presence. _Oh, God, I don't want to die. I don't want to die._ His inscrutable gaze looked her up and down as he entered the room and she knew that he knew she'd been trying to escape.

"Got to love good craftsmanship," Don said. He came over to the bed and knelt down on it, moving on his hands and knees until he was looming over the top of her, jeans-covered knees on either side of her hips, resting against her bare skin. She whimpered and shuddered involuntarily, heart racing. _This is it..._ He ran his hand down her stomach, watching its movement, watching her try to pull herself away from him, stopping just above the top of her panties. The hand stayed there as he looked back up at her, seeing the terror and revulsion on her face and the tears pouring again. "It's a pity, I want to have some fun now...but there's some things I've got to do first. I'd say don't go anywhere, but..." He gestured around with his other hand. "That'd be kinda pointless." The words were spoken in an almost monotone quiet voice and it scared her more, like Don wasn't really there in his head. He leaned down and kissed her just below her ear, on the sensitive skin above her jawline, before licking a stripe down her neck. "Mmm, salty."

She squeezed her eyes shut, disgusted and violated.

"I'll be thinking about how beautiful you are right now every moment I'm gone." The monotone was gone, his voice husky and full of repressed emotion. He'd liked what he'd done.

His hot breath disappeared from beside her ear, his hand came off her stomach and the bed dipped with his movement off it. She kept her eyes closed, hearing his footsteps out of the room. She wanted to frantically rub at the wet skin on her neck, but the best she could do was try to wipe it against her bare shoulder. A few minutes later she heard the toilet flushing and a few minutes after that the sound of Don's SUV starting up. Only then did she dare open her eyes again, knowing that she was truly alone. Her entire body started shaking, the overload of emotion and fear and relief making itself known. She was still alive. She let herself cry almost hysterically, knowing that she needed to get the feelings out to keep a clear head and try to get herself out of this mess. Trying to hold it all in and 'be brave' would only serve to make it harder to focus. She was exhausted when the tears finally ran out, trembling with cold and shock. She looked to the clock: 2:42. Don had been gone for fifteen minutes. The realisation that she didn't know when he'd be back spurred her to start pulling on the headboard again. Don had taken his gun, cell and handcuffs with him; she could only pray that it didn't mean he was going after someone else, or that if he was, that they or somebody else would be able to stop him.

Come 9 AM people would start to wonder where she was, but that still left Don six hours to do whatever he wanted.

Another thought followed on the tail of that: nobody would even blink if Don called in sick for her. She truly was alone.

* * *

Liz wished that she'd had time to grab coffee. Three forty in the morning was just too early to be functioning without coffee. Don's voice had been tense and his order for her to report to the scene terse, so she'd forgone the time needed to make one or to stop anywhere, instead only taking the time to get dressed in the black pants she'd been wearing the previous day, a blue shirt and black jacket, put some make up on and tie her hair back.

"Hey, Colby," she said as he got out of his car. They'd arrived within a minute of each other so she'd waited for him. Don was already there, presumably in the house, his Suburban parked on the street. There were no other cars, which seemed a bit odd to her, but she dismissed it. Don hadn't been specific about what the scene was and there could be a multitude of reasons for the lack of attendance from forensics or LAPD. They could have also already been and gone.

"Liz," Colby replied with a nod as they made their way up the pathway to the front door. He didn't look very awake, hair still a little tousled like he'd only made a token effort to brush it and fading pillow marks on his cheek. "Any idea what this is?"

"Nope. Our fearless leader left me in the dark as well." Liz grinned and Colby gave a short laugh. "I'm thinking he was pissed to be forced out of bed."

"I know the feeling," Colby mumbled under his breath.

Liz smiled again as they walked into the house. "Don?" she called. "Wait, there he is." Don was standing in the bedroom on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from them, in his usual tight jeans and a black polo shirt. It was a little bit too cold to be without a jacket, but he didn't look like it was bothering him. "Hey, Don. What's up?"

Don glanced back. "Liz, come over here. Colby, check out the kitchen."

"Sure," Liz replied, exchanging a glance with Colby as he left the room to obey Don's order. _So, Don's doing cryptic and short today...Fun times._ Don made room for her beside him, stepping back slightly so he wouldn't obstruct her view. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement as she didn't see anything that would warrant attention. "What am I meant—"

She broke off as she registered movement behind her, Don moving closer to her. She started to turn, some instinct telling her that there was something wrong, but Don moved faster. Suddenly his arm was around her neck, she was pulled up flush against him and her gun was out of its holster and pressed into the side of her head. The move had shocked her, making her heart pound faster and fear start to flow throughout her. _What the hell?_

"Eppes...Don, what's going on?" She tried to keep her voice calm, hoping that she'd been loud enough for Colby to hear. She was having a little trouble comprehending and accepting the fact that her boss was holding a gun to her head.

The gun pressed harder into the skin beside her ear as he hissed, "Quiet." He turned her to face the door, waiting for Colby.

Liz internally swore when Colby walked unsuspectingly into the room. With her gun at her head and with Don's tight grip and training, there wasn't much she could do at this juncture to get herself out of the situation. _First Colby, then Edgerton, and now Don...Did we break a whole room full of mirrors?_

"Don, there's nothing—" Colby stopped in shock and in a fluid motion pulled his own gun. They stood silently in a stand-off for a few seconds, Colby quite clearly trying to get his head around the fact that his _boss_ had taken another team member hostage. Liz was still having the same issue, mixed with a very healthy dose of fear. "Don, man," Colby started, sounding a little shocked, "you need to calm down and let Liz go. Whatever's going on, we can sort it out. But you've got to let her go first."

"Not happening," Don replied, sounding strangely flat, his grip around her neck tightening a little. Not enough to choke or hamper her breathing, but enough to warn her to not try anything. Any move she could make, he could counter.

 _Psychotic break?_ Don had been through the wringer over the last year, between his stabbing and Pete Fox, and whatever had been going on with Robin. Although, she'd been glad to see he'd at least seemed happier about his relationship with Robin. _Robin. Oh, God, if whatever this was had started while he was with her...Who knew what he might have done to her. This doesn't even seem like a genuine call out, more like something he'd set up as a trap._

"Okay, okay, just remain calm. Okay, Don?" Colby hadn't lowered his gun, keeping it centred on them both. He'd probably have a clear shot of Don's head, if he decided to take it, but she knew there was a good chance that she'd end up dead in the process. Don was fast. "Just tell me what you need, what's going on, and we can work this out."

"Put your gun down and move into the bathroom," Don ordered. Colby started to protest, keeping his aim square.

 _He wants to take me somewhere else,_ Liz realised. Letting a hostage taker get mobile was never a good idea.

"I said put your gun down and move into the bathroom. Toss your cell, too. Otherwise Liz's brains will be splattered all over this room. And there's the little matter of Robin Brooks." His tone was still flat and cold, a tone that she'd only ever heard used with suspects.

Liz's stomach sunk. She'd been right. She really did not want to be right.

"What about Robin?" Colby asked, his voice surprisingly level.

"You do as I say and just maybe she stays alive." It was hard to hear him sounding so predatory and uncaring about his own girlfriend. This was most definitely not the Don Eppes that Liz knew.

They had no back up and a civilian's life was at risk. Liz couldn't really see that Colby had any option other than to obey Don, even if it meant Don leaving with her as a hostage. At least then he'd be able to try to do something to help Robin, to find out what had happened to her.

"Okay," Colby relented, pulling one hand off the gun and putting both his hands up in a surrender gesture before tossing the gun away from him. Liz knew he more than likely had a backup in a holster on his ankle, like she did, so at least he wasn't completely unarmed. _And if it all goes to shit in the next few minutes, he's got an option to end it._

"Don't even think about trying to call for help," Don said as Colby pulled his cell out and threw it after the gun.

Colby kept his hands up while he edged sideways into the bathroom. "Don..."

"Shut up and cuff yourself to the sink pipe."

He obeyed, crouching down and cuffing his left wrist to the pipe. The pipe looked distressingly sturdy.

"Keys to the cuffs."

Colby dug into his pocket tossing his keyring away.

"The spare, too."

Considering Don hadn't ordered him to remove his back up piece, she'd hoped that maybe he'd forget about the extra key. Again Colby followed the orders, although she thought that there'd be a good chance he'd be able to reach the spare.

"Don, you don't have to do this," Colby pleaded as Don started backing up out of the room, taking Liz with him.

Don ignored him, dragging her into the hall of the house and pushing her hard against a wall. He shifted the gun to rest against the back of her head, stepping back slightly. _He wouldn't go to all that trouble to just execute me here and now._ The thought unfortunately wasn't reassuring Liz much, particularly given how out of character he was acting. She could feel herself shaking from both adrenaline and fear.

"Don, please—"

He gave her a further shove into the wall. "Shut up and put your hands behind your back."

With no choice, she reluctantly obeyed and he clicked one cuff of a pair of handcuffs around one wrist before doing the same to the other. He now had her rather effectively immobilised. There was a hand abruptly going through her pants pockets, throwing whatever he found on the floor, including her cell.

Then he was marching her out the door, past her car to his own. Dragging her feet didn't slow them down much, although every second counted with the possibility of Colby getting free and being in a better position to stop Don. Surprise could work in their favour.

She needed to try to get through to him before he took her away from help. "I don't understand why you're doing this. Don, please, you don't have to do this."

He opened the passenger side door and pushed her up onto the seat, ignoring the fact that leaning on her cuffed hands for any length of time was going to hurt.

"I said shut up."

He locked the door before slamming it shut, meaning that by the time she'd wiggled enough to be able to get her hands near the door Don was already in the driver's seat, pointing the gun at her again, his face still blank. She really did not like him pointing the gun at her, particularly as she could not read his face or body language at all. A completely unpredictable hostage taker was not a good hostage taker to be with, particularly when you didn't know what they wanted.

Liz settled back into the seat, trying to project defeat while internally watching everything as much as she could, ready to take advantage of any opportunity. She also tried to figure out what the hell had happened to make Don snap so badly. The engine turned on and Don pulled away from the house, driving one-handed, the other hand resting in his lap, holding the gun.


	3. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Don woke up slowly, his neck protesting at the awkward angle he'd been sleeping at. He felt fuzzy, not sure how he'd ended up asleep on Robin's couch with her in his arms. And with their glasses of wine smashed on the floor, he noticed as he looked around the room. There was a scarlet stain spreading out from the epicentre, almost dried. _How long have I been asleep?_ He brought his left hand up and blinked at the time. It was just after ten-thirty pm. _Why the hell was I asleep?_ Don tried to straighten up, but it was hard with Robin's dead weight against him. The glasses on the floor, the fact that they'd both suddenly fallen asleep—he remembered taking the glass off Robin—it was all adding up to a very bad feeling in Don's gut.

"Good evening, Agent Eppes."

Don startled at the voice, automatically searching the room again before registering that the voice was in his ear, not without in the room. His hand automatically moved up to his left ear.

"Very good, Agent. Yes, it's an ear-wig, but I would suggest that you don't remove it. I have cameras all around and a microphone on you, I can both see and hear what you're doing. And well, if you don't do what I say, you and Miss Brooks there will be found in tiny little pieces."

 _Shit._ The wine and falling asleep: they'd been drugged. Robin had drunk more, which was why he was awake and she wasn't. She should have let him get the beer...although, maybe it was drugged too. Then the man's last words clicked, and he realised that his mind was more than a little fuzzy. _Fuck._

"There's a bomb." Don was sure he sounded incredulous. This sort of stuff happened in movies and TV, not in real life. _Well, rarely in real life._ He tried to think whether he'd ever heard the man's voice before, but nothing clicked. There was nothing special about it and the accent would fit any native Californian.

"Yes, Agent Eppes. Get up and go to the front door."

Don didn't move for a second, testing the boundaries and whether what the man had said about cameras was true.

"I said, get up and go to the front door. I will not repeat myself again." The man's voice had hardened.

Don glanced down at Robin; she was still unconscious.

"She's just asleep, but she will be more than that if you do not do what I say."

That clinched it, the man was watching them. _Damn it._ He manoeuvred Robin gently off him and climbed off the couch, watching out for the glass on the floor, before lying her down flat where he'd been sitting. The limpness of her body worried him, but she did seem to be breathing fine. He walked to the front door, feeling the stiffness in his muscles ease as he moved, the man speaking as he went.

"Do not test me again, Agent. You will not like the results."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, taking in a shaky breath and leaning against the wall when he got within sight of the door. There was a bomb, connected to a cell phone. And it looked big enough to take out the entirety of Robin's house. _A bomb. Fuck fuck fuck_ fuck _._

"It's quite simple, really," the man started casually, before unsuppressed anger filled his voice. "You ruined my life, now I'm going to ruin yours."

Don let his eyes slowly blink, panic starting to dawn. So far, the guy was really well organised; drugging his victims, planting an earwig and microphone, setting up cameras and a bomb to control them. He wasn't giving Don any way to get them some help or stop him.

"You do what I say and your girlfriend makes it out of this alive," the man continued.

 _Alive._ It seemed a very carefully chosen promise to Don. He didn't miss the fact that he wasn't included in that promise. "Why should I believe you?" Don put some belligerence in his tone, even though he still needed the wall to hold himself up.

"Because I'm the man with the bomb and you have no choice."

Don conceded that point, looking around the hall for inspiration or help. He rubbed his hand through his hair. How exactly did the man intend to ruin him?

"If you want me to hurt anybody, you can forget about it. I won't."

"You will do what I tell you or you and Miss Brooks will be dead...but I won't push you too far, Agent. Now go and move Miss Brooks up to her bedroom."

Without any real choice, Don decided to obey. Robin was still unconscious, making it harder for Don to easily cradle her in his arms, not wanting to put her to the indignity of being carried over his shoulder. The stairs made his back twinge as he climbed to the second floor. _Getting old, Eppes._

"On the bed. And yes, Agent, I do have cameras in here, too."

Don gently placed her on the bed, head resting on one of the purple pillows. She hadn't stirred at all. Some strands of hair had fallen across her face, and he smoothed them out of the way, silently apologising at the same time. He had a strong feeling that the next few hours were going to be hell for them both.

"Now strip her down to her underwear."

There was an edge of excitement to their puppeteer's voice that made Don feel sick to the stomach. He was getting off on what he was making Don do. Don swallowed, closing his eyes as he did so. _No._ He wouldn't do it. The word remained unvoiced, but obvious in the fact that he hadn't moved.

"I am dialling the number for the bomb," the voice said. The computer beeps of a cell being dialled came across Don's earwig loud and clear.

"Okay," Don finally whispered, opening his eyes after three numbers were entered. _Alive is better than not alive, no matter what._ He hoped to hell that Robin would agree with him, because he had a sinking feeling that the freak was only just getting started. While he'd definitely helped Robin undress more than a few times, and usually at high speed, undressing someone who was unconscious was a lot harder. There was no help with bending limbs or lifting her head up. She was a rag doll, one he didn't want to play with. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair to try and get rid of the knots he'd created getting her sweater off. And he wanted to cover up her body, but he resisted, not wanting to give the man any help with torturing them, any glee in telling him to leave her lying there practically naked. She should have been beautiful, lying on her bed in the black lace panties and bra that she swore were the most comfortable she owned, but she wasn't. Don was relieved to find that he wasn't turned on, he didn't think he could cope if he was.

"Get four scarves out of her closet and tie her to the bed. And remember, I can see, so you better tie them tight."

Don gagged slightly, his hand going to his mouth, seeing where this was going to lead. Even though the man couldn't know about Robin's fear of being tied up, waking up from being drugged to find she was stripped and tied to her bed by her boyfriend was going to terrify her. Extra terror would be created by the fact that she hated being bound, an instinctive and unreasoning fear that Don wished they'd never discovered. Add in that she wouldn't know what else Don was going to do... _I don't know what else I'm going to have to do..._ and even if they made it out of this alive this would likely break them, both as individuals and a couple. He'd started hyperventilating without realising it and he worked on calming back down. _Alive is better than not alive. We_ will _get through this._ He put his body on autopilot while he did what had been asked, making sure that they were tied tightly enough that she wouldn't be able to easily pull free. Her skin was going to be chafed when she inevitably did try.

"Excellent." The excitement that had been in the man's voice was replaced by satisfaction at a job well done. "Go back downstairs, you've got some clean up to do."

Don followed the man's instructions, picking up the broken glasses, while trying not to cut himself, and rinsing them in the sink before putting them in the trash. Any evidence that both their glasses, and not just Robin's, were drugged was probably gone. He poured the rest of the bottle of wine down the drain and rinsed it. He collected the cell phone that the man had brought for him and even touched the outside of the bombs and the cells attached to put his fingerprints on them. He really did not like being that up close and personal with them. Finding the second bomb at the back door was a nasty shock and showed the man really did mean business.

One way for the man to ruin Don's life was to frame him for setting up bombs in his girlfriend's house, drugging, stripping and tying her up and then terrorising her. It wouldn't even have to hold up for long to scrutiny for Don to potentially end up dead at a colleague's hands. Everything that Don had been forced to do so far fitted that scenario. He was terrified, both for himself and for Robin.

"And now we wait for sleeping beauty to awaken. Go back upstairs and put your gun, handcuffs and cell on her bedside table. Then sit on the end of the bed. Oh, actually, you better gag her first, we don't want her alerting the neighbours."

The hours that he waited proved that the sadist running their little show was patient. At random intervals he reminded Don that his word had to be obeyed...and that Robin wasn't to have any idea that there was anybody else involved other than Don. If it looked like she even suspected that there might be somebody else pulling the strings, they'd both be dead. Don used the time to build up some mental walls to allow him to do what needed to be done, to hide what he was thinking and feeling from Robin. The easiest way was to shut down, act cold and uncaring and try to take a step back in his mind, although he knew that he'd still be tested by her reaction. Give her something to hate, something that wasn't like him at all, and maybe she'd get through the next few hours better. He also tried to think of some way to alert somebody as to what was happening or to get out of their captor's control, but his mind was a blank. With being watched and listened to and not knowing how many cameras there were or what areas they covered, he couldn't do anything.

Robin finally started to wake up.

"Look at her," the man's voice urged. Robin had opened her eyes, trying to scream, and started to struggle in the restraints. "She's so beautiful. Just look at her."

Robin frantically looked around the room, eyes settling on Don's. He saw the fear turn to anger in her eyes, even as tears started to flow, and she shouted through the gag at him as she continued struggling. Then she seemed to lose all reason, the ramifications of her situation setting in, and she started screaming, struggling and crying harder. It took everything Don had to keep his expression blank, to not start screaming and shouting and rush to untie her himself.

"Stand up. Go and sit beside her. Caress her face." The twisted excitement Don had heard before in the man's voice was back. Don obeyed, even though his stomach churned, working hard to keep his face impassive as Robin's eyes locked on his. He wanted her to see something in his eyes that would make her realise that this wasn't him, that he didn't want to do this, but at the same time he didn't want her to. It would put her life at risk. He could feel the flinch as she forced herself not to try and back away from his touch. "Continue down to her breast."

 _No._ His control slipped, but he forced it back into place and tried to tell himself that it wasn't his hand. She was crying again and she hadn't been able to control her attempt to move away at his touch on her chest, or to force down the whimper. He kept his touch above her breast, not willing to go any further on his own.

"Tell her she's so beautiful."

Don obeyed. "So beautiful." His voice didn't even sound like him, quiet and monotone. The fear in Robin's eyes told him that he was succeeding, she thought this was all him. Don was starting to realise that the man wanted so much control over what Don was doing that he wasn't going to get a chance to do or say anything to help himself or Robin. The fear he was feeling went up a notch. He tried to build the walls in his mind up higher, shove his emotions as far back as he could.

Robin suddenly started coughing and Don didn't know what to do. He wanted to remove the gag, certain that it was not helping with her catching her breath, and his hands hovered above her head uselessly. More tears ran down her face as the coughing continued, her back arching off the bed, and he felt a bolt of pure terror. _She is going to choke to death._

"Do nothing, Agent."

Robin finally managed to stop coughing, her breathing ragged, and glared at him. She wasn't cowed or broken yet and it was a huge relief for Don. The strength that he knew she possessed would get her through.

"I think she needs to learn who's in charge." The man was angry, obviously having seen Robin's defiance. "Slap her across the face. Now."

 _Is this where I draw the line?_ His hand drew back and he did it, feeling a bit of himself shrivel up and die. She turned her head back to face him, still defiant, before something suddenly broke. He'd seen the realisation that a person was going to die dawn on more than a few times in his career, but he'd never in a billion years have thought that he'd see it on his own girlfriend and know that he was the cause of it. The hand was moving across her forehead, moving her hair off her face in a soothing gesture before he'd even consciously thought about it. He wiped the tears away from under her eyes, his touch gentle.

"Shhhh. You know you want this," he repeated obediently when the sadist prompted him, leaning down and kissing her gently on the forehead.

"Get off the bed. I think we'll leave her to think about her situation for a few minutes."

Robin's eyes closed and it was with relief that Don moved. As soon as his weight was no longer on the bed, Robin's eyes immediately opened, fear-filled.

"Stare at her for a few seconds and then leave. Go downstairs."

Leaving the room, leaving her behind, knowing that he wasn't going to hurt or scare her for at least a few minutes, only left him feeling numb. He didn't make it down the stairs, instead sliding down to sit numbly against the wall with a thump a third of the way from the bottom, leaning forward with his arms pulled tight around his body. What he'd just done...he was a monster. It felt like part of him had broken off and died. If the man spoke, he didn't hear it, lost inside his own head. A repeated call of 'Agent Eppes' finally withdrew him from his fugue and he walked back up the stairs.

Don looked Robin up and down as he walked into the room and dutifully repeated the words he was fed. "Got to love good craftsmanship." It didn't feel like his body that obediently crawled over the top of her, or his hand that traced a path down her stomach to stop just above her panties. He obediently looked up at her, almost numb to her terror and tears as he left his hand where it was. "It's a pity, I want to have some fun now...but there's some things I've got to do first. I'd say don't go anywhere, but..." His other hand was moving, gesturing around without even being told to. _Monster_. He didn't even realise what the words he was saying really meant. "That'd be kinda pointless."

"Kiss her and then lick her. Below her ear, down to her neck. Tell her she tastes salty." The man's voice was a growl.

It was all he could do not to throw up, the taste of her fear almost stinging in its intensity. He couldn't regain his control, the walls crumbling, as he repeated the words he was told and it came across in his voice. "I'll be thinking about how beautiful you are right now every moment I'm gone."

It almost felt like relief to stand up and leave the room, taking the items on the dresser with him, and make his way down the hall. He couldn't hurt her any more. Don was gagging before he realised it and he rushed into her bathroom, only barely getting the toilet lid up before he was expelling the contents of his stomach. His gut heaved until there was nothing left, continuing on afterwards even though he could bring up no more.

"Flush and then go down to your car. We're not done yet, Agent. Not by a long shot."

TBC...


	4. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Come on," Colby grunted, stretching his foot out as far as he could. "Dammit."

The key to the cuffs was still just out of reach. He needed to be uncuffed now and calling David. Getting the search underway for Don and Liz and finding out what had happened to Robin. Looking around the room again gave him an idea—the towel. He ripped it off the railing. Angling his body, stretching out as far as he could and flicking the towel finally managed to do the trick. The towel lost traction on the keys a few times, but after another minute or so he had the key.

Everything that had happened in the last ten minutes felt surreal, almost as surreal as when Don and David had arrested him during the whole Janus affair. He definitely knew that things could sometimes be not what they seemed, Edgerton being a prime example, but until they had any sign that it was anything other than what it looked like, Don going seriously off the reservation, they had to act accordingly. Don was armed and dangerous and had taken a fellow agent hostage, who happened to be his ex-girlfriend. He'd also threatened the life of his current girlfriend. Those two together could not be a coincidence. Why he'd wanted Colby as a witness was something that didn't seem to make any sense, it meant that the search would be started. It would have been easy enough for Don to just have called Liz and snatched her, no witnesses and no worries for hours.

Don's whole demeanour lent itself to the possibility that he was in the midst of a psychotic break or some other psychiatric episode. It was possible that Don was under duress somehow, but until they had proof, Don was somebody to be taken down. Non-lethally if it all possible, but if they had to go lethal they would. Nobody would like it, but they'd do the job, Liz and Robin's lives the higher priority.

Cuffs undone, Colby drew his backup weapon and started moving cautiously out of the bathroom. Another oddity—Don would know that he carried a backup and yet hadn't disarmed him. He was fairly certain that Don and Liz were gone, but he wasn't going to take the risk that he was wrong. The house was empty, belongings scattered in the hallway showing where Don had gone through Liz's pockets. Her cell and Don's cell had both been dumped, but there was no sign of her backup gun. A quick look outside indicated that they'd taken Don's SUV. The inbuilt GPS would give them something to track.

Colby pulled out his cell, collected on the way through the bedroom, and holstered his gun. He called Control and asked for the nearest LAPD unit to meet him at the address to secure the scene. Maybe there was something in the house that would explain what was going on. Now he needed to explain what happened to David. David answered after two rings.

"Sinclair."

"David, Don's taken Liz hostage and done something to Robin. We need—"

"Please tell me you're joking," David demanded.

"Sorry, man, believe me, I wish I was. This is very real."

He heard David hurriedly dressing as he explained what happened.

"Shit," David swore emphatically. "Okay...uh...go to Robin's house in the Valley. I'll send Nikki too. I'll check out Don's apartment on my way into the office, but I think she's more likely to be at her house if he hasn't taken her somewhere else. I'll get the techs started on the trace of Don's SUV, get LAPD looking for it, and inform the AD what's going on. I'll send some agents to your current address."

"Okay," Colby agreed, opening his car door, relieved that the search would be getting underway. "What about Charlie and Alan?"

David sighed. "I'll get on it after I've spoken to the AD. Considering how erratically Don is acting, he could go to the house."

That was not a good thought. "I hope you're wrong on that, David."

"Me too. I'll call you back when I find out anything. Be careful."

There was only a short wait before a unit arrived to guard the house and Colby could leave. Five minutes into the drive, David let him know that the GPS was disabled in Don's SUV. The techs were trying to find it by the closest traffic cams to the house where Don had ambushed them. Four other agents were on their way to Charlie and Alan's house to make sure that Don hadn't gone there and to provide protection for them. The AD had also called in both OPR and the Security Division to oversee the entire investigation. An agent would be joining each of them to make sure that nobody covered up evidence and to provide an 'objective' perspective when they did find Don. Colby didn't like being doubted on his ability to do the job, even if shooting Don was something he really wouldn't want to do.

Ten minutes before Colby pulled up outside Robin's house David called again to let him know that Don wasn't at his apartment or at Charlie's house in Pasadena.

"This is some kind of messed up," Nikki said when she arrived. "That the OPR guy?" She nodded to the only person she didn't recognise out of the six agents gathered outside the house.

"Yeah." Colby checked the tightness of the strap on his tactical vest, a nervous gesture. "The only car that's here is Robin's and there's lights on both floors. All right, let's go. Nikki, Mike and Kathy, you take the back door, we'll take the front."

The teams divided, Colby leading his up to the front door. The radio crackled.

"In position."

"Go," Colby ordered.

The door was quickly dealt with, but before they'd moved into the house Colby had to abort the entry. He heard Nikki doing the same on her end and when they were back down on the street he checked in with her.

"There's a bomb at the front door."

"One at the back, too," she informed him. "What the hell is Eppes doing?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "We're going to have to evacuate the surrounding houses while we wait for the bomb squad."

It explained Don's comment that _maybe_ they could save Robin. He just hoped that Robin had the time to wait.

* * *

 _By now, Colby should have called in back up. They're looking for us._ The thought didn't reassure her, though, particularly when every time Liz had tried to talk Don had told her to shut up and lifted the gun out of his lap in a clear threat. She hadn't missed the fact that the person Don had grabbed was her, his ex-girlfriend, and the other person he'd threatened was his current girlfriend. It really was not a good sign and she was in no position to defend herself. She could live in hope that he was under duress, but nothing seemed to indicate it and he hadn't tried to use any distress words.

The cuffs were digging into both her back and her wrists. She shifted, trying to ease the pressure a bit. Don's grip tightened on the gun in response as he glanced at her.

"Stop moving."

Her eyebrow raised as she looked at him. "Easier said than done. The cuffs aren't exactly comfortable."

"Yeah, well, that won't be a problem for much longer." The words were so cold they were almost arctic.

Considering he hadn't told her to shut up again and the rather ominous statement that he'd just dropped on her like a bomb, Liz decided she had nothing to lose by trying to engage him in a conversation. "What are you doing, Eppes? This isn't you. What's going on?" There was no response, he just kept on looking ahead where he was driving. "I can't help you if I don't know why you're doing this. I want to help, Don."

"You want to know why I'm doing this." Don laughed, almost hysterically, before quietening. "I'm doing this because it's your fault. You're responsible."

 _Me?_ Liz blinked. That was not a statement she'd expected, although considering she was the one he'd taken hostage she probably should have, not that she had any idea what he could be referring to. There was nothing at work he could think that she was responsible for and they'd been broken up for two years. Other than at work, they didn't have much personal interaction now unless it was in a group, and what interaction they did have was surprisingly easy.

"Don, I don't understand. What's my fault?"

His jaw worked for several seconds as he stared straight ahead, whatever he wanted to say was obviously hard. "I asked Robin to marry me and she said no."

 _Oh. Oh shit._ Things were starting to make more sense. Not in a 'it makes perfect sense to threaten my girlfriend and kidnap my ex' kind of way, but in emotional upheaval tipping Don over the edge.

"You think she said no because of me?"

"Why else would she say no?" Don snapped.

Liz kept her mouth shut. Providing alternative reasons or suggesting that now she definitely would never say yes was probably not a good idea. On the other hand, the fact that Don worked with one of his ex's was probably not something that Robin particularly appreciated and Liz could understand her being worried that something might happen between them again, even though Liz assumed she trusted Don. But Liz had talked to Robin, when they seemed to be going through that rocky patch, and told her that Robin had been the only one Don really had loved. Liz even believed what she'd said—it wasn't just something that she'd said to try and reassure Robin that she was no threat. Don wasn't the same guy that she'd met back at Quantico any more. He loved and was in love with Robin and it was plain for anyone to see. He'd settled down and seemed happy with her. As much as Don Eppes could seem happy. There was a darkness to his mood that he never seemed to be able to completely shake.

"Don, I'm sorry, but this...this isn't going to solve anything. Let me help you."

"It's too late."

"It's never too late."

They both knew that she didn't mean the words. She was starting to get a sinking feeling that Don's endgame involved the backup gun that he had to know that she was wearing. She always carried a back up. She'd seen how much Pete Fox's death at Don's hands had torn him up, she really didn't want first hand knowledge of how he felt. She also knew that, given how precarious her situation was, that if she got a chance to go for her gun and end it, she probably would. Even if ending it meant killing him. He'd threatened her too many times for her to have any other option.

They'd entered a quiet street, no one else around. Don pulled in behind a nondescript blue Ford and got out of the SUV. He rounded the front and unlocked her door, yanking her unceremoniously out by the arm, his grip tight but not painful. While she was off balance he pinned her against the side of the car, hips touching. She couldn't restrain the cry of pain her hands slamming against the metal caused. Don ran the muzzle of the gun in his hand delicately down the side of her face as she tried to pull away, before resting the gun flat against her chest. His mouth descended on hers in an aggressive kiss and his free hand wandered to her ass. Angry and scared, she stomped down on his foot, the reaction instinctive. Pain crossed over his face as he backed off a few feet, limping slightly, gun aimed at her head.

"What the hell did you do to Robin, you son of a bitch?"

There was now a very clear sexual motive to Don's behaviour and it terrified Liz, both for herself and for Robin. Everything he'd done had reinforced the need to take whatever out she could, even if it meant killing her boss.

"I never knew she could look so beautiful, naked...helpless. Now move it." He gestured to the other car.

His words made her feel sick to the stomach, but Liz obeyed his order. While she knew that Don had a relatively high sex drive, she'd never seen anything when they were together to indicate this. The new car would make it easier for them to go undetected because nobody was looking for it, but there was no way she could stall him. She was starting to think that Don had done something to the GPS on the Suburban as there had been no sign of help. Don unlocked and opened the front passenger side door.

"Turn around."

Liz reluctantly turned, Don stopping her when she was sideways to the door. The intentness of his gaze on her made her skin crawl. He forced her to bend forward by pulling her hands up behind her, leaving her even less in control, produced another pair of handcuffs and cuffed her left hand to the hand bar above the door on the inside before undoing the original cuffs. She gratefully pulled her right hand around from behind her back, trying to figure out whether she could take him out. Even if she could, she would still be handcuffed to the car. As if sensing her thoughts, he pulled the gun back out, pointing it at her.

"Sit down."

After she'd sat he grabbed her right hand, handcuffing it to the left and leaving her arms raised. It wasn't going to be comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but it was better than leaning against her hands. Considering her reaction to Don's actions outside the SUV she was surprised that he'd acceded to her request for her hands to not be cuffed behind her. Don closed the door and she twisted to watch as he returned to the SUV, taking what looked like a laptop out of the back of it and putting it in their new vehicle's trunk. _What's on that?_ He got into the driver's seat, adjusted its position and then sat for a few seconds before reaching to start the engine.

"Thank you. For my hands," Liz said quietly. There was no real reason for him to have tried to make her more comfortable, particularly after she'd stomped on his foot and he'd assaulted her. He'd thrown her a bone, she was going to respond in kind.

Don didn't say a word.

TBC...


	5. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Charlie fidgeted. Being awoken by two FBI agents in the early hours of the morning to be asked whether they'd heard from or seen Don, only then to be told that the FBI agents couldn't tell Charlie and Alan _why_ they were asking said questions, was not leaving him in a good frame of mind. When he'd told them that he was going to call Don or David to find out what was going on they'd taken his cell off him. Even protesting about the abuse of his civil rights hadn't budged the agents one iota, showing how serious they were about whatever was going on.

The two agents hadn't gone anywhere, seeming hyper-alert, so Charlie, Alan and Amita had all gotten dressed and then sat around trying to figure out what the hell was going on and not worry excessively. Charlie was sure that he wasn't the only one experiencing repeating playbacks of every worst case scenario he could think of. Or the only one thinking that there were more agents around than they could see.

"I just...this doesn't... What could be going on?" Charlie asked the room in general, eyes focussed on the agent in the blue shirt who was on his cell. All the agent's replies were soft and one worded, making it hard to try and glean any information from the conversation. It wasn't the first time that Charlie had asked some variation of the question, all his previous queries about whether Don was all right having been met with stony silence by the agents.

"I don't know, Charlie," Alan replied wearily. "But asking them again isn't going to help. We've just got to think the best."

"I know, I know." Charlie sank his face into his hands, frustrated and tired. Amita silently rubbed his back, trying to comfort him.

"Maybe some kind of threat was made against Don," Amita speculated. "And since you're family, they're being overly cautious." She shrugged when Charlie turned his head in his hands to look at her. "What, you're the only one allowed to speculate?"

"Of course not," he muttered, sitting back up and putting his arm around her. She settled in against his side, holding onto his hand to try and calm some of his nervous movement. "I don't like waiting." He was aware that his tone was more than a little petulant, but he didn't have it in him to care. The only time he'd been more afraid for his brother was when Don had been stabbed. He knew that the information blackout could not be a good thing.

"Nobody does." Alan leaned forward out of his chair and grabbed his glasses and a magazine off the table.

"You're going to read?" Charlie couldn't control the rising tone of his voice.

"Yes, Charlie," Alan said tersely. "I'm going to read, so I don't drive other people insane while we wait, like you're doing. Or let you drive me insane." He put on his glasses, opened the magazine with an exaggerated snap and an eyebrow rise, daring Charlie to say anything else, before lowering his gaze to the glossy pages of _New Scientist_.

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Alan hadn't even turned the page, his eyes seeming to go back to the top to reread what he hadn't taken in the previous time in a repeating cycle.

"I'm sure that when someone can let us know what's going on, they will," Amita murmured, squeezing Charlie's hand encouragingly.

"Yeah," he agreed, even if he didn't necessarily believe her words. Charlie started to hear voices from outside. Alan abandoned his magazine, removing his glasses and looking up, obviously also hearing them. "Someone's outside."

One of the agents went to the door, opening it for whoever it was. _Don_ , Charlie hoped. Their hopes were immediately dashed, though, when the two men entered the room and the door was closed behind them. Instead, a feeling of dread and anger started to form in his gut. Charlie pulled away from Amita's hand, abruptly standing up and moving aggressively forward a few paces, ready to defend his territory from the interloper.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Charlie pointed at the man standing on the right, none other than Agent McGowan, who'd recommended against him regaining his security clearance and recommended disciplinary action against Don. The man had very clearly had a vendetta against Don and now he was standing in Charlie's house.

"Charlie," David said, holding up his hand placatingly from where he stood beside McGowan, "please calm down."

"Charlie?" Alan asked, now also standing after seeing his son's reaction, his glasses hanging loosely and forgotten in one hand.

Charlie looked back at him, gesturing again towards McGowan. "That's Agent McGowan, the agent who tried to railroad me and Don." He turned back to McGowan, glaring at him.

"As it happens, it turns out that I was probably right, Dr Eppes. Your brother—"

"You know nothing about my brother," Charlie hissed, not letting him finish.

McGowan's head tilted slightly to the side, a snide smile appearing on his face. "Is that so?"

David moved in between them, both hands now held up, one directed at Charlie and the other at McGowan. "This isn't helping." He looked at Charlie, eyes widening to indicate that he should calm down before looking at McGowan. When they both remained silent he lowered his hands.

"David, what's going on? Has something happened to Don?" Alan broke the silence.

David sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. The tiredness and worry that Charlie could suddenly see, now that he stopped to pay attention, weren't the normal level that he saw for David. There was pain in his eyes, almost as bad as what Charlie had seen when Colby had initially been arrested for being a traitor. Add in the presence of McGowan and Charlie was suddenly sure that he really didn't want to know what was going on, or what they _thought_ was going on.

"I think we better all sit down."

David's soft, almost gentle voice helped confirm Charlie's suspicions. He let Amita lead him back to the couch and sank down on it. When they were all seated, other than for their two minders, who were still watching out the windows and Agent McGowan who chose to stand, David began.

"Ah, Alan, Charlie, when did you last see Don?"

It was not the explanation that Charlie had hoped for.

"Two days ago," Alan answered. "He stopped in for a few minutes with Robin."

"Robin Brooks?" McGowan asked and Alan nodded.

"Charlie?" David prodded.

"The same."

"How did he seem? Worried, on edge..."

"Tired, otherwise normal. Like Don," Alan answered for them both as Charlie nodded. "David, please tell me what's going on with my son."

David shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "Don called Colby and Liz to a scene, earlier this morning. Well, what they thought was a scene." He paused before plunging on. "Don, he uh, he held a gun to Liz's head. He threatened Robin's life and then left with Liz as a hostage."

The shell-shocked look that was on his father's face had to be on Charlie's own. Amita had given a small gasp, holding onto Charlie's hand even tighter. It was like he was sitting in a carbon copy of his house, with carbon copies of his family and people he knew, but nothing was right, even though it was an exact copy it was still somehow all wrong. A copy with a flaw that you knew was there but couldn't find, couldn't prove the existence of. One pixel out of place and no idea where it was...

"Alan..."

Amita was no longer sitting beside him, instead kneeling down beside his dad. His dad had gone almost grey, his breathing shallow, and was shaking slightly. David was then blocking Charlie's view.

"Alan, you need to breathe deeply, in and out. Do you have any tingling or pain in your chest or your left side?"

 _Heart attack. David's checking whether my father is having a heart attack._ Charlie wasn't sure whether he still had a heart, it felt like it had died the moment that David had told him that his brother had held a gun to Liz's head.

"No...no, I'm okay." The voice didn't sound like Alan, like the strong and powerful man that he'd always seemed. It was the voice of an old man, weak and tremulous. "It was just a shock, that's all. A shock. Please David, I'm okay, just—I need to know what else..." His voice had strengthened as he continued to speak, before petering out again.

"You sure you don't want me to call an ambulance?"

"I'm fine."

The words were an almost painful reminder of Don. He was always _fine_. Would he say he was 'fine' now?

"This has to be a mistake."

The words were rasping, quiet, and Charlie hadn't realised that they were his until David had stood and turned towards him. David shook his head at Charlie's pleading look.

"Charlie...believe me, I wish it was, but it isn't. Colby was there, he saw and heard it all. We don't know where Don and Liz are, we don't know what Don's done to Robin."

Charlie pushed up from his chair, pacing frantically back and forth, the words spilling out at high speed. "Then i-it's like Ian Edgerton or Colby, he's undercover or someone's making him do this. This just—it-it can't be Don. Don wouldn't do something like this...He wouldn't. If you think he could, you really don't know my brother."

"I think you'll find, Dr Eppes, that it's you who doesn't know your brother."

Charlie rounded on McGowan. "How dare you come into my home and say that. I know my brother."

What was almost a look of pity developed on McGowan's face. "What I mean is that we never know people as well as we think we do. Evil can hide, as you should know from Robert Posdner. His family had no idea what he'd done, who he was."

"That's not Don," Charlie denied, shaking his head.

"Charlie," David said, the authoritative tone to the word causing Charlie to immediately turn around. "It's possible that Don is under duress, that someone is forcing him to do this, but until we get any indication of that, we have to treat this as it appears. I'm sorry, but we have no choice, there's too many other lives at risk."

"You said Don had—that he'd threatened Robin. Is she okay?"

Once again Alan's question had seemed to make David uncomfortable. "We don't know. Colby and Nikki tried to get into her house, but..." David sighed. "But there was a bomb at both the back and front doors. They're waiting for the bomb squad."

"A bomb." The more David said, the less Charlie believed that what was happening could be possible. It had to be a nightmare and he was going to wake up any time now. He woodenly walked over to the couch and sat back down beside Amita. She immediately put her arms around him. "There has to be something else going on."

David looked at him sadly before continuing his questioning. "I have to ask, how has Don and Robin's relationship been lately?"

"Fine. He's been happy." Charlie's view of David was blurry and he wondered why, until he felt wetness slide down his cheek.

"Alan?" David asked.

There was a pause as Alan opened his mouth as if to speak and then shut it again.

The realisation dawned. "You know something..." Don always talked more to their father than he did to Charlie about his relationships and life. It still hurt, still felt like he was the little brother being told to stay out of Don's business, but he did understand that, for Don, talking about his emotions was hard. He was grateful that Don sometimes talked to somebody, even if it wasn't him.

"Don... About a month ago he told me that he'd asked Robin to marry him and she said no," Alan said quietly. "But they had to have sorted it out, they're still together. They seemed happy when I saw them after that."

There was dead silence, those who knew Don surprised by the revelation. After the amount of time Charlie had worked with the FBI, he knew that David would likely be thinking that a failed marriage proposal could be the explanation for Don's behaviour that they needed.

"Do you know why she said no?" David asked.

Alan shook his head. "Donnie said he didn't know...but they had to have sorted it out. Don's never been the best at-at-communicating, I guess you could say."

"That's an understatement," Charlie muttered.

He knew that Don was serious about Robin, but he hadn't suspected that he was ready to get married. Maybe McGowan was right, he didn't really know his brother as well as he thought... But there was one thing he did know. Don would never have done what they said he had, not of his own accord.

David's cell rang and he answered it, moving away so that they couldn't hear the conversation. The call was short and he gestured to McGowan as he headed to the door.

"We've managed to track down Don's SUV, we've got to go. Alan, Charlie, I'll let you know what's going on when I can. I'm going to do my best to make sure everyone makes it out of this, okay?"

They sat quietly after the agents had left, still shocked by all that had happened.

"There _has_ to be something else going on."

* * *

The road was starting to blur in front of Don's eyes, street lights and traffic lights bleeding out into their surroundings. White, red, green and orange smears. He was tired and not sure how much more of this he could take. Even if it meant saving Robin's life. The man he'd been before this had all started was gone. He couldn't come back. The man he'd been before would never have even thought about giving up. It was Robin's life at stake.

"Turn left."

Obediently he turned the car. The man controlling him had already succeeded in his goal. Don's life was ruined. Robin would never want to see him again, never be able to stand him touching her, even if he could prove that he had been just a puppet, performing for someone else's sick amusement. And he wasn't sure whether he'd ever be able to touch her. Nothing more had been needed to destroy him. The rest of it was overkill.

One small part of his mind was still thinking like an FBI agent, telling him that he needed to get his head in the game, try to figure out some way to alert Liz to what was going on, some way to get both himself and Robin out of this alive and with nobody else hurt. Occasionally that part clamoured for control, gaining it briefly, but it was too quickly swamped by the rest of his mind that had decided to check out early and retreat to the bunker at the bottom of the hill; safe, fortified and distant. Remote controlling the 'him' outside, sitting in the car with Liz, distant from all its actions.

The FBI agent fighting for control knew how this was likely to end and was trying to tell him that he didn't want to die. The him hiding in the bunker at the bottom of the hill also knew how this was likely to end and thought that no more pain would be a good thing.

Liz had tried to engage him in a conversation now that he'd cuffed her hands in front of her. That hadn't been his decision, as much as she seemed to think that it was a compromise to make her more comfortable. She'd given up when he hadn't replied during the ten minutes she'd tried.

"Turn right. We're just about at our endgame, Agent Eppes. The cake is a lie."

The last was said with playful amusement. _The cake is a lie? What the..._ Reality crashed in for a few seconds before the detachment took back over.

"Pull over."

Don pulled the car to the right, stopping in the middle of an empty parking lot. It was a lot that appeared to service a number of businesses, deserted and lit by only a few lights with the time of morning.

"Don, think about this." Liz was silent no longer, urgency in her tone, seeing only one reason for them to be where they were. "You don't want to do this."

He opened his door, getting out at the man's demand. The night air was cool on his face and he let his eyes flutter closed for a second. He rounded the car and opened Liz's door.

"We can talk about this, figure out what we can tell Robin so that she says yes."

He unlocked the cuff connected to the Jesus bar, stepped back quickly and pointed the gun when Liz tried to make a break for it.

"Please, Don, you don't want to do this."

Liz was holding her cuffed hands up, pleading and prayer wrapped into one.

He could see where this was going to end. Telling Liz to get out of the car, pushing her forward and then off balance. Her falling to the ground, reaching for her ankle, turning, hoping she would be faster than he was. The man knew that Don wouldn't take another life, not even for Robin. Endgame. Don Eppes in ruins, his reputation in tatters. Don Eppes dead or dying. This close in, you still had to aim for centre mass.

Liz had no choice; he gave her none. She got out, moving ahead of him as he instructed, as he was instructed. It didn't take much of a shove for her to fall, hands already reaching for her ankle. She pivoted, still crouched and there were the two punches he knew were coming. Don was falling, hitting the ground hard on his back. He'd been right.

"And here we are, endgame. Don Eppes bleeding out after trying to kill his ex, after hurting his prosecutor girlfriend. You didn't think I didn't know about the backup gun, did you?"

He was still holding the gun, felt as Liz kicked it away, her own still pointed at him. His chest and shoulder were on fire.

"Nobody will ever know I existed. Oh, but what about the cameras, the microphone, you ask? The only cameras they'll find are at Miss Brooks' house and the house where you took Agent Warner hostage. And well, you already know what they'll find on the laptop."

Liz had holstered her gun and was searching through his pockets.

"The earwig? With everything else, do you think that they'll believe that one lonely piece of evidence that indicates that someone else was involved? I think not."

She'd found the keys and undid the cuffs around her wrists.

"So this is goodbye, Agent Eppes. It was nice knowing you."

Liz used the cell that the man had left for him, calling for help. Then she was leaning back over him.

"You are not going to die on me, you hear me you son of a bitch? You're not going to die on me."

There were tears falling down Liz's face as she pushed down on his chest and shoulder. The FBI agent had fallen silent, leaving the guy in the bunker in charge but the bunker had suddenly moved several miles away. Nobody was running the show now.

Distant sirens started up, Liz's help on the way.

"Just hold on. You're not getting out of paying for this, out of explaining why."

His eyes slid shut. The part of him that was an FBI agent was gone...there was only the part that was hiding in the bunker, sighing in relief. There was finally no more pain.

TBC...


	6. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6

Chapter 6

There was no blood. That was about the only good thing that David could take away from the scene. That and the fact that the arsenal Don kept in his SUV was untouched. With no sign of Don or Liz in the area surrounding where the SUV was found, odds were they'd switched cars. The vehicle was now forensics' domain and they were back to waiting. The techs were on the traffic cams again, trying to spot a vehicle leaving the area. David knew that even with the lower levels of traffic at night it was probably going to be a crapshoot.

He rubbed his hand against his eyes before clenching it into a fist and bowing his head. "Damn it."

"At least we know Warner was probably still alive when they changed cars. There would have been no reason for Eppes to take her body with him if she wasn't."

If that was McGowan's idea of a comforting thought, he needed a refresher course. David's phone rang and he answered it automatically.

"Sinclair."

"David? It's Liz. I had to shoot Don." There was a slight hysterical edge to her voice.

Adrenaline started pumping the moment David recognised Liz's voice. "Liz? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine... He didn't hurt me." There was a pause before her second sentence that David filed away to question her about later. "I've called an ambulance."

"Where are you?"

David noted the address and started hurrying towards their sedan.

"He's bleeding a lot, I need to put pressure on it." Liz sounded shaky. "I'm okay, really. I'll see you soon."

She hung up and David slid into the driver's seat. Before McGowan had even put on his seat belt David was starting to put the sedan through its paces, lights and sirens turned on. The drive went by in a blur, David cursing the slower cars who took too long to get out of their way. Liz had shot Don. Don was possibly dying. Despite the huge surge of relief that David felt knowing that Liz was probably okay, his stomach was sinking. He didn't want to arrive on the scene and find out that Don was dead. Or to face Don and look at him and see the man who had taken his own agent hostage, who had threatened his own girlfriend instead of the man he respected the hell out of, his boss.

David's cell rang.

"Sinclair."

"It's Colby. Bomb squad have disarmed the bombs, we're just about to go in."

"Okay, be careful. Liz called a few minutes ago, she's okay, but she had to shoot Don. Ambulance is on its way."

"Shit. I'll let you know what we find."

 _Please let them find Robin alive and unhurt_.

The ambulance and two LAPD units had already beaten them to the parking lot when they arrived. Another FBI sedan pulled in behind them, two agents getting out. The flashing lights from the vehicles lit the place up. Liz was sitting sideways in the back seat of one of the units, feet hanging out the door to rest on the pavement and a blanket wrapped around her. The EMTs were just about to load Don into the ambulance, so even though Liz was the higher priority to David, he checked on Don first.

"What's his condition?"

One of the EMTs shook her head, blonde hair swaying with the movement. "Not great, he's lost a lot of blood."

Don appeared to be unconscious, blood darkening his black shirt and his skin pale. A wave of worry washed over David, despite what he knew.

The inquiry of what hospital they were taking him to done and answered and an agent ordered to go with the ambulance as Don was a prisoner, David hurried over to the squad car, glad to see that McGowan had hung back and not approached Liz. He evaluated her as he approached. Her right knee was jiggling up and down and she was shaking slightly. The eye makeup she was wearing had smudged from the tears that still looked like they were working to escape. He couldn't see any bruises or cuts. There was blood on her shirt.

David crouched down in front of her and extended his left hand, letting her make the move to grab it. There was blood under her short fingernails, somebody obviously having given her something to wipe her hands off. He squeezed lightly, letting her lower their hands to rest on her knee. She sighed, the sound indicating that she was barely holding the tears in, before looking off into the distance to try to regain some control.

"You okay?" David asked softly.

She took another breath before looking back at him and shrugging with a pathetic half smile. "As much as I can be, having just been taken hostage by my boss and then being forced to—" her breath hitched, but she continued on, "—shoot him."

"You think you're up to walking me through it?"

Liz gamely nodded, releasing his hand, trying to regain some of her composure and think like an agent rather than a victim.

"Yeah, but have you found Robin? What Don said..." Her jaw tightened as she looked up at the night sky, control tested again. "He said..." Another breath. "He said that she had never looked so beautiful, naked and helpless."

"That sick son of a bitch."

David had to agree with McGowan's words, the low burn of anger that had started in his gut when Colby had first called him starting to simmer.

"We don't know yet," David answered. He didn't want to give Liz any more information until he got her version of events. She wasn't just an agent, she was a witness and a victim and he didn't want to influence her recollection of what had happened in any way. "Tell me what happened at the house."

She took a deep breath. "Colby got there about the same time I did. All Don had given us on the phone was the address. I thought he was just pissed at being woken up, you know? We went into the house, he was standing in the bedroom, behind the bed, like he was looking at something. He told Colby to check out the kitchen and me to join him. He moved aside when I came around the bed and stepped back. I couldn't see what he'd been looking at, what he wanted me to look at. Then he had his arm around my neck and my gun at my head." She mimed the action.

Over the minutes that it took Liz to walk them through what happened, David felt both the anger and dread in the pit of his stomach grow. Don had made no attempt to use any distress words and there had been no sign that he was under duress. The failed marriage proposal and blaming Liz even made some level of sense, although why he'd waited a month to take it out on both of them was a mystery.

"He pulled up here...and I _knew_ that he was going to kill me. I think I said just about anything at that point to try and stop it." The remembered fear was in her voice, her eyes far away, seeing the car and the gun all over again. "Don's—his face—" She shook her head and gave a shrug, brow furrowing. "He was blank. Didn't say a word, other than to tell me to get out of the car. And even that, his tone was flat, you know? He forced me ahead of him and then he pushed me. I fell and I knew that it was my only chance. I pulled my backup piece turned and fired." She shook her head again. "He didn't even try to shoot back. I found the keys and unlocked the cuffs and then called the ambulance and you."

"Liz, you did the right thing. You had no choice," David reassured. His cell rang and he answered, standing up and walking away a couple of feet. "Sinclair."

"We've got Robin out. She's on her way to the hospital. Nikki's with her," Colby said. "She'd been stripped to her underwear and tied to her bed." There was a lot of anger in Colby's voice and David closed his eyes. "She said it was Don."

 _No. This couldn't be Don._ The problem was that he knew it could. The stabbing, Pete Fox's death, buying the motorcycle, his questioning of his job and the failed marriage proposal, all were almost enough by themselves to be triggers or indicators. Together, they were almost an explanation.

"Was she assaulted?"

"Her cheek's bruised but otherwise, I don't know. There's nothing obvious. She's pretty traumatised. Saying it was Don was the only thing I could get out of her. How's Liz?"

David looked back towards her, her head now bowed and her hands clenched together tightly. "As well as can be expected. She says he didn't hurt her." David wasn't quite so sure now that he believed her. There'd been the hesitation on the phone and if there was a sexual component to what had happened she might not want to admit it. David didn't want to admit that it could be a possibility either. He finished the conversation with Colby and then joined McGowan and Liz again. "They've found Robin. She's pretty traumatised." He crouched in front of Liz again. "Liz...did anything else happen?"

"What do you mean?" The slight, almost imperceptible wobble told David he was probably on the right track.

 _Please let it not be rape. Both Robin and Liz._

"Did Don assault you in any way?"

She blinked slowly and sniffed, restraining the onset of tears again. David put his hand over hers where it rested in her lap, moving slowly to give her the time to tell him to back off, giving it a squeeze of support when she said nothing.

"When he got me out of the SUV he pinned me against the side of it. He ran the muzzle of the gun down the side of my face and put the gun against my chest. He kissed me and grabbed my ass." She'd been staring into the distance again, lost inside the memory. Her focus came back to the present, onto David. "I stomped on his foot and he backed off. That was when he told me what he'd done to Robin."

"Nothing else?" David asked gently.

"No."

While David was incredibly relieved that it hadn't gone any further, it was bad enough that it had gone that far. And they still didn't know how far it had gone with Robin. _How the hell did we miss this?_ It couldn't have happened in a vacuum, there had to have been other signs.

"You didn't do anything wrong." He gave one last squeeze of her hand and stood up. "You know what happens now. They'll have to investigate the shooting."

"I know the procedure," Liz said. "I'll be fine. Go and figure out what the hell happened here."

David looked away at the sound of more cars pulling into the lot, forensics and other agents. David spotted the Assistant Director in Charge getting out of his car and sighed. It was time for him and Agent McGowan to report this catastrophe.

* * *

"What?" Nikki asked as Colby shut his cell.

"Liz called David. She's fine, but she had to shoot Don. There's an ambulance on its way."

Nikki shook her head, hands on her hips and lips pursed in frustration and anger. "How the hell did things get this screwed up? Our _boss_ planting bombs in his girlfriend's house, doing who knows what to her and taking another agent hostage?" She shook her head again. "I keep on hoping that it'll be like Edgerton or something, but the more we go on... Hell, after what happened with Ian I'd told Don that if I was ever in that situation, I wanted him to be the one on the other end. Ironic, huh?"

"I know." Knowing that Liz was okay unfortunately did not relieve much of the guilt Colby felt at not being able to stop Don taking her hostage in the first place. It had forced Liz into a situation where she'd had to shoot the man who was both her boss and ex-lover.

"Agents," the agent in charge of the bomb squad called. They walked quickly over to him. "We don't know whether there'll be further devices in the house—" he held up his hand when Colby started to protest against being forced to remain outside, "—so one of you can come in with us initially while we clear the rest of the house."

That was a better compromise than Colby had expected. He didn't give anybody else a chance to volunteer to go in, joining the bomb squad team as they got ready. He followed behind as they entered through the front door, checking the lower storey of the house. There were no more devices, but there was a red stain next to the couch which looked recent. Red wine if Colby was any judge, after having seen the empty bottle in the kitchen. They climbed the stairs to the second storey, clearing the rooms. The final room was the only one on the second storey to have a light on and Colby thought that it was going to be where they'd find Robin. Adrenaline flooded his system and his gut tightened as they approached the room.

"It's okay, ma'am, FBI, we're here to help," the first agent to enter the room said, his voice gentle.

Colby rushed forward, wanting to get into the room as soon as possible. As the last bomb squad agent left the doorway he got his first glimpse. It was Robin's bedroom and she was tied to her bed. She'd been stripped to her underwear and gagged. Colby stopped in the doorway, unable to believe that _Don_ could have done this. A wave of sickness and disgust rolled over him as the anger that he'd felt since Don had held a gun to Liz's head in front of him ramped up.

"We're clear," the agent in charge of the bomb squad said.

The word unfroze Colby and he hurried over to Robin. There was bruising on one cheek and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

"It's okay, Robin. You're safe now," Colby murmured soothingly, hoping that the tone would do more work than the words would. He pulled a knife from his pocket. "I'm going to get the gag off you, and then we'll work on getting you untied, okay? You're safe, I'm not going to hurt you."

She nodded so he moved his hands slowly but steadily towards her face, not wanting to make her skittish with the close contact. A second or two sawing with the knife and she was free of the gag.

"There you go. Let's get started on those hands. Robin, can you tell me whether you're hurt anywhere?"

He looked at the scarf tied around her hand before deciding where to cut. It looked like it was digging into the skin and it would probably be better for the EMTs or the hospital to remove the material from around her wrist. Not having a response from Robin, he looked back down at her face. She'd started silently crying. _Shit_. Nikki appeared on the other side of the bed.

"Hey, Robin," she said softly. "It's going to be okay. We'll have you out of here in a few minutes." Nikki then sent a grim expression in his direction, knowing just as well as he did that it was going to be a long time before it was okay, even if what they could see was all that had been done to Robin. They cut Robin's wrists away from the headboard in silence. The minute Robin's arms were free she retracted them to around her stomach in a half hug, the crying picking up intensity as she twisted half onto her side. It was hard to see the normally composed prosecutor so traumatised.

Gesturing for Nikki to try to get through to Robin, Colby started on her ankles.

"Robin, Robin can you hear me?" Nikki asked softly. "I need to know who did this to you."

A small, insanely hopeful part of Colby was saying that she wasn't going to respond 'Don'. It would be someone else, some stranger that had done this, and the stranger would have forced Don to abduct Liz. There'd be a reasonable explanation for Don's behaviour.

The crying slowed for a second as Robin rasped out, "Don." The shudders at admitting that vibrated throughout her body, juddering her ankle as he was trying to cut it loose.

"You're safe," Nikki said, but there was an edge to her voice, brought on by the confirmation of what they'd both hoped against.

Both of Robin's ankles were now free and she curled up into a ball. The EMTs that had been waiting approached, starting to evaluate her. Nikki remained perched on the side of the bed, a comforting hand on Robin's shaking shoulder.

"Hey, Miss Brooks, do you think you could walk down the stairs? It'd be a little easier." The EMT gave her a small smile when she nodded, sitting herself up. "Let me just put this blanket around you first." He wrapped the silver blanket around her snugly and she caught hold of the ends, making sure that it would stay wrapped. Colby was encouraged to see her being somewhat responsive to the situation.

Robin's legs nearly collapsed when she stood up, but the EMT caught her, supporting her as she made her slow way out of the room. Her face was blank and her eyes looked lost. She was very clearly in shock and traumatised.

"How could the bastard have done this to her?" Nikki hissed after Robin was out of hearing distance. "I want to kill him myself right now."

"Look, I know how you feel, but it's not helpful at the moment. We need to remain focussed on finding out what happened. I need you to go to the hospital with Robin and be her support. See whether you can get anything out of her, but be gentle."

Nikki took one final look around the room before nodding. "This is just messed up."

Colby couldn't agree more.

TBC...


	7. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The juggling act David was trying to pull off was starting to make him wonder why exactly he'd thought it was a good idea to go for supervisor. He trusted Nikki and Colby to deal with Robin and the search of her house, but he definitely needed to talk to Robin at some point. Then there had been informing a devastated Alan and Charlie as to what had happened and answering their questions about what would happen next while they waited to see whether Don made it through surgery. That had been tough. There was also the forensics from the house where Don had abducted Liz, the SUV, the other car and Don's apartment, plus anything on Don's actual body to follow up on. Add in reporting to the ADIC, trying to work with McGowan, and the hostile looks he was getting from some of their fellow agents (whether it was because they believed Don was innocent and therefore David was the devil or that he was guilty and therefore David was still the devil) and David was about ready...to go calmly into the men's bathroom and wash his face with water. One member of his team completely losing it was enough for one day. He wasn't going to give anyone a reason to pull him off the case.

He leaned on the sink, head bowed and eyes closed as the water dripped off his chin. Six thirty in the morning and it felt like the longest day he'd ever had. He let a few tears join the droplets of water that were still on his face, tears for what two women had gone through...and for Don. If Don had done all of it of his own accord, then Don was not the man David had known and that man (and his friend) was lost. If he'd somehow been forced into it, then the man had been through hell and was going to have as hard a recovery as Robin and Liz would, if not harder because of knowing that he was responsible for their pain. That was assuming he even survived his injuries. David looked up at himself in the mirror above the sink. The pain he was feeling was plain in his eyes. He splashed his face again and towelled off, trying to put his feelings on the back-burner. There would be time later for tears, guilt and beating himself up for not knowing sooner that there was something seriously wrong. Now was the time for gathering evidence and building up a complete picture of what had happened and why.

"It's hit the media," McGowan said quietly as he reached his desk, pointing to one of the TVs on the wall.

David looked up. There was footage of Robin's house from the air and a photograph of Don flashed up onto the screen, one from a few years before when his hair was shorter. David was grateful that the sound was off, he didn't want to hear what was being reported. They changed back to the reporter in the studio and a banner came up on screen underneath her talking head: 'Breaking News: FBI Agent Don Eppes suspected in abduction of FBI Agent and prosecutor.' It was probably expecting too much to hope that it wouldn't get picked up by the media, but David would rather that Don had not been tried in the media circus before they'd figured out exactly what had happened and why.

"I bet that made you happy." David couldn't help sounding bitter, the words out of his mouth before he'd really thought them through.

"Actually, Agent Sinclair, it doesn't. We do not have all the facts yet, ruining a man's reputation in the media before all the facts are in is not how I operate. There are rules and regulations to be followed to make sure that the right conclusion is reached before the general public is involved. This is helpful to no one." McGowan gestured towards the TV again.

The man wasn't a complete bastard. David had already known that, yet David had still felt the need to bait him. _Stress,_ he reassured himself. _That's all. Perfectly understandable and McGowan did have it in for Don before._ The interrogation that McGowan had put all of Don's team through had not endeared the man to any of them. Or made David feel that he should trust him, particularly where it came to Don's life and career on the line.

David's cell rang and he felt a flicker of irritation. The morning had been phone call after phone call; he would have given anything to have half an hour without his cell trilling like a possessed and very annoying canary. He managed to answer it without snapping, listening quietly as the caller imparted their reason for contacting him.

"We can look at the laptop now," David told McGowan as he made his way over to the elevators.

It had been a potentially nasty surprise to find in the trunk of the car. Liz had told them that Don had moved it from the SUV to the car, which therefore made it valuable in terms of possible motive or evidence for why Don had gone postal. Considering the bombs that had been found at the house and Don's FBI background, they'd decided to leave booting it up to the techs who'd be better able to deal with anything that they could possibly come across. Forensics had already let him know that they'd found Don's prints on the outside of the laptop, the area around the keyboard and the power button. There hadn't been any fingerprints from anyone else on or in the laptop, not even around the battery.

"Agent Sinclair," the female tech greeted them when they joined her at her table. David was fairly certain her name was Simone, but it had been a while since he'd had evidence that she'd examined and knowing her name wasn't high on his list of priorities at that moment. The laptop was open in front of her, one of the default wallpapers for Windows of a sand dune covering the screen. There were very few icons for programs. "Okay, so we've got no nasties, well, at least none computer program related. No programs to wipe the hard drive or anything else malicious. However, there are a number of video files going back a bit over a month and one combined video and audio file, and those..." She shook her head grimly, bringing up the folder that contained the files. "This one is the most recent, time stamped this morning." She hovered the mouse cursor over the file. "It's the one with the audio as well as video and, believe me, you're not going to like it."

Video and audio from that morning. David had to close his eyes for a second, exhaling softly. He had a bad feeling he knew what it was going to be. "Play it."

The video started and David was proven right. Every single second of it turned his stomach, making him glad he hadn't felt up to eating the breakfast that another agent had gone out and bought for him and McGowan. Robin's absolute terror came through louder than her sobbing. There was nothing of Don in the man who touched and hit her, who told her that her fear was _beautiful_. Who left her to sob hysterically, after he finally left the room. The sound almost completely died off when Don left the room the first time and there was no sound at all at the end after he'd left. Seeing Robin cry without any sound, it was almost more painful. David angrily wiped away the tear that had rolled down his cheek as the video ended.

"The other files?" McGowan asked, his voice rough and his eyes full of sympathy, both for Robin and for David.

"Nothing like this," the tech said, shaking her head again. "Sex videos from the same room, involving Agent Eppes and the woman, and from another room which looks like it's in a different house. They all seem consensual, although whether their filming was consensual is something you'd have to ask the woman. The placement of the cameras is the same for all the videos, they weren't moved. That last video, at the very least, could have been streamed on the internet, as the website is still operating. It looks like it was downloaded, though, as a whole file from a different website that has since been taken down." She opened Internet Explorer and brought up a site that showed a picture of Robin's bedroom. David could see a man in an FBI jacket who was broad enough to be Colby standing mostly out of frame.

"This is live?" he asked, his eyebrows raising, hand already retrieving his cell. The tech nodded as he called Colby.

"Granger."

"Are you in Robin's bedroom?"

"Yeah."

"Turn around and move slowly to your left."

David was right, Colby was the man standing on the edge of the video. He waited until Colby was standing in the middle of the camera feed.

"Stop. There's a camera somewhere there in front of you."

Colby in the video leaned down closer to the camera, his face becoming large.

"Got it." His voice was tightly controlled, realising exactly what the camera implied.

"That's not the only camera," the tech said, bringing up another webpage. "There's two others."

"Stay on the line, there's other cameras."

The next camera looked to be in the kitchen from the view of the sink and fridge.

"The other one?"

The final camera had a clear view of a sofa and part of the entryway into the house.

"Colby there's one in the kitchen and the other has a view of a sofa downstairs."

"Okay, give me a second."

Half a minute later Colby appeared on screen, off to the left.

"Move to your left, in front of the sofa."

It took a few more directions, but they finally located the camera. The one in the kitchen was easier to find. Cameras watching his girlfriend's almost every move...that was sick.

Colby shook his head, the camera clearly catching his angry expression. "Please tell me he didn't film whatever he did to Robin."

"He did."

"Anything else?" Colby asked abruptly.

"No."

The Colby onscreen quickly snapped shut his cell before moving out of camera view.

"That all?" David asked the tech.

"Not exactly." She picked up two evidence bags that were sitting beside her and handed them to him. "These are from what was found on Agent Eppes at the hospital."

David blinked in surprise at the small object in one of the bags as McGowan leaned in to look as well. A small slither of hope was starting to develop. "An earwig?"

"It was in his left ear. And the other is a microphone which was on his shirt. It explains why the sound pretty much dies when he leaves the room in that final video, the sound was coming from the microphone."

"An earwig and a microphone," McGowan repeated, just as aware of the possible implications as David was.

It was the first indication that maybe Don had been under someone else's control. The cameras could even be explained by it: a way to gather information and make sure Don did as ordered. In his left ear the earwig wouldn't have been noticed by Liz while he was driving. Reality decided to intrude on David's hope. So far it was the only evidence that they'd found that implied that someone else could be involved. By itself or even with Don saying that someone else was forcing him, it would likely not be enough to stop Don being charged-he could have put the earwig in himself to make it seem like he was under duress and give himself a defence, and the microphone could have been so he could record it all for his own sick amusement afterwards. The earwig could also have been used to keep track of Robin, if there was a microphone in her room. There were explanations for it that fitted with Don being responsible. It would probably raise reasonable doubt at his trial and stop him being convicted, but David had a feeling that the powers that be would push for him to be charged unless they found something more concrete that indicated Don had been under duress. He'd be unlikely to get bail and they all knew what prison was like for law enforcement officers.

David rubbed his chin. "We, uh, need to check whether there were cameras in the cars and at the house where he abducted Liz. And whether there's a microphone anywhere in Robin's room."

And they needed to report the new information to the ADIC. David could barely let himself hope that what the earwig and microphone implied was true. If it was, the person who'd set this all up appeared to have covered their bases thoroughly, making it seem like Don was responsible for everything. It was going to be hard to definitively prove differently. By this point, David had largely convinced himself that Don was responsible, as much as he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to start believing the opposite and then have that belief crushed.

He had to stay objective and trust in the evidence. And the evidence overwhelmingly indicated that Don had done it all. He'd rejoice if they managed to prove otherwise, but until they had more proof, he couldn't start believing in Don again.

TBC...


	8. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The fragile and almost non-responsive woman that had been brought into the hospital had been replaced by a much stronger resemblance to the Robin Brooks that Nikki had seen around the office. She was still deeply shaken and emotional, but she was more aware of what was going on around her and answering some questions. The rest she was blanking out, still not quite completely with it. The shaking had lessened now that she was in hospital scrubs and wrapped in a blanket. The IV rehydrating her was probably helping, too.

Nikki was starting to piece together a rough outline of the evening. There'd been some sort of sedative in the wine, Robin had blacked out and then awoken to find herself as they'd eventually found her, in her underwear and tied to the bed. Don had molested her to some level and had hit her, but she'd been adamant that she hadn't been raped.

"I just don't understand how I could have missed it." Robin's voice was surprisingly calm, although her blue eyes were not focussed as she stared out past her knees that she'd drawn up to her chest. It was the first time that she'd voluntarily said anything and Nikki wanted to encourage her.

"What do you mean?"

Robin picked at the bandage on her left wrist as she continued to stare off into the distance. "I mean, I _know_ that people can hide what they're really like from their families and friends, but I'd still always thought that they weren't looking hard enough, were just...ignoring it, I guess." She finally looked up, gaze not quite focussed on Nikki. "How did _I_ miss it? Why wasn't I looking hard enough?"

Nikki knew what answer Robin needed, the answer that was the truth, but wasn't sure whether it was going to be enough. "It wasn't your fault. None of us knew."

"Why didn't any of _you_ look hard enough? You're _FBI agents_. You're trained to notice these things. He even _dated_ a fucking FBI agent." Robin's face twisted in anger as she lashed out and Nikki knew not to take it personally. Besides, it was the question they were all asking themselves and would still be for months to come. Robin's mood suddenly changed, the edges of her mouth turning down as tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's not your fault. It's nobody's fault, other than..." She trailed off, not being able to finish the sentence, before gulping and finishing at a whisper. "Other than Don's."

"It's okay," Nikki reassured her with a small smile. "Don't worry about me, I've got pretty thick skin."

Robin gave her a watery smile in response. It was pathetic as smiles went, but Nikki was grateful to see it at all.

"You said they got him, didn't you? He's not still out there?" Robin asked anxiously, picking again at the bandage.

"Yeah, we got him." Nikki tried to put as much conviction into her voice as possible. It wasn't the first time Robin had asked, even after Nikki had told her that Don couldn't hurt her now. She hadn't told Robin that Liz had shot him, or even that Liz had been abducted by him, that was a conversation for when Robin was more emotionally stable and after her statement had been taken.

Silence reigned for a minute as Robin continued trying to destroy the edges of the bandage. Just as Nikki was about to ask Robin to talk through the events of the morning and the previous evening, if she felt up to, she spoke.

"I can't believe this happened _now_. Yesterday was meant to be a day all about spoiling me." She ducked her head to the side, almost embarrassed by the admission. "Don had decided that. And it was. It was nice." She smiled at the remembrance before the smile slowly faded, leaving her eyes full of sadness. "Only minutes before he gave me that wine he'd rubbed my feet. He'd made me breakfast in bed, took me jewellery shopping and for a walk on the beach, washed my hair for me and made me dinner." She stared at her feet. "Then he drugged me, stripped me and tied me to my bed. Some end to the day."

"You said you started to fall asleep after you drank the wine. Did Don have a glass as well?"

Robin frowned as she thought, left hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "It's a little fuzzy, but I think he tried to go to the kitchen to get a beer. I wouldn't let him go, asked him to have some wine with me." The words were slowly spoken as she played back the memories. "He did pour a glass, but then he sat down with me on the sofa and pulled me into his arms. I couldn't see if he drank it."

"There's a wine stain on the carpet next to the sofa. Do you remember how that happened?" It probably wasn't important, but Nikki wanted to see how much Robin did remember.

She blinked. "A wine stain? No, I don't remember how that happened. Wait." Her brow scrunched. "When I was falling unconscious, I thought I heard a crash. That could have been one of the glasses falling. I think I handed Don mine when I'd started falling asleep."

"What happened when you woke up?"

The hand was back picking at the edge of the bandage on her wrist and Robin avoided the question. "Did you know that he asked me to marry him a bit over a month ago?"

 _Wow. Asking your girl to marry you, then tying her up and assaulting her. Real classy, Eppes._

"I didn't," Nikki replied.

"Yeah, it was such a romantic proposal, too, in the conference room at the FBI office while we were both working. 'Hey, we're paying two rents, that seems stupid, so why don't we get married.' He was shocked when I said no." Robin rolled her eyes.

Nikki had to smile at the sarcasm. Sadly, she could see her boss making such an inept proposal, although she was surprised that they'd remained together, with men's egos and all. "Yeah, I'm betting that's just how every girl dreams her proposal will go. But you'd worked it out, right? I mean, you were still together."

"Yeah. I thought we had, anyway, after I managed to get him to stop avoiding me." She laughed slightly, no humour in the sound. "Guess I was wrong." She wiped the tears that had started falling again off her face, sniffing inelegantly. "I just wish I could stop crying. I hate crying, particularly in front of other people."

"To be honest, I don't think anyone really likes it."

That made Robin laugh again, mirth that almost reached her eyes. She accepted the tissue that Nikki had plucked out of the box and blew her nose.

"I hate him, but I still love him." Robin shook her head back and forth, more tears falling. "Why do I still love him?" She'd started sobbing before she'd finished the sentence.

This much crying over what a man, who Nikki had trusted and cared about too, had done was starting to test Nikki's own self control, producing a lump in her throat. Robin had buried her face in her knees, arms wrapped tight around them as she continued to sob like her heart had been broken. And it had. It had been broken and then trampled into itty bitty jagged pieces that were tearing Robin apart from the inside out.

"Hey," Nikki said softly. "There's no right or wrong way to feel here. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Nikki sat silently until the crying fit had passed and Robin lifted her tear-streaked face back up. The bruising on her cheek was becoming more pronounced. Tissue box handed over—Nikki wasn't the one who needed them after all—Robin wiped her face off and blew her nose again, going through an impressive number of tissues. She looked exhausted, both from the emotion and the events of the night.

"How'd you get the bruise on your cheek?"

Robin's hand came up to brush it and, from the expression on her face, Nikki thought she'd almost forgotten about it. She hadn't been in front of a mirror since they'd gotten her out of the house so there was a good chance she had, if it wasn't too painful.

"How bad is it?"

"Noticeable, but not too bad," Nikki replied honestly.

Robin nodded, still prodding her cheek gently. "Don slapped me at one point. That was when I really realised..." Her breath shuddered as she tried to finish, hands dropping into her lap, shredding the tissues she'd had clenched in her fist into white confetti. "I realised that he was going to kill me. It was really happening, he was going to hurt me," she shrugged, jaw working as she fought the tears again, "maybe rape me, then kill me. He couldn't let me go. It was real. How could it be real?"

"Do you think you're up to telling me what happened?"

Robin nodded, a determined look on her face.

 _Atta girl._

* * *

The stabbing had been Alan's worst nightmare. Don getting seriously hurt on the job (he didn't allow himself to think about Don getting killed. He _couldn't_ allow himself to think about Don getting killed) was something he'd always lived in fear of. Then it happened and it was worse than Alan had ever imagined. Watching his boy fight for his life—and almost fail in that fight—was the hardest thing that Alan had faced. Harder than Margaret's cancer and losing her, because this was his little boy. This was his son that had been so small that he'd fitted in the crook of his arm, that he hadn't known quite what he was meant to do with but somehow had figured it out without breaking (or drowning) him in the process; the son who was always fearless in his exploration of the world, leading to more than a few almost broken bones but somehow always avoiding the actual breaks; the boy who'd never been particularly huggy, right from word go, but when he did hug you, you knew what it was to be the centre of his world (or that he was really tired, but Alan had taken what he could get); the boy who'd wanted a puppy rather than a little brother, but then decided that a brother wasn't so bad after all.

The stabbing was still Alan's worst nightmare because he'd never ever dreamed or thought of something like this. Even when Don talked about stepping over lines he shouldn't have crossed, when he seemed so exhausted and drained by everything that his job demanded from him, when he was sitting in the dark brooding and drinking, Alan knew him. He was still that little boy that Alan had watched grow up.

The man that hurt his girlfriend, that took one of his own agents hostage, Alan didn't know that man. Charlie was so sure that something else was going on, that somebody had made Don do it, and Alan was too. Except for one tiny traitorous part of him that said that maybe the world had finally asked too much of Don and he'd said enough was enough. There were fleeting moments when the man staring out from behind Don's eyes was someone Alan didn't recognise, someone he couldn't read, but that was all that they were, moments that went by in a blink of an eye, to be forgotten about. They couldn't be enough, could they?

Don had assaulted Robin. How badly, Alan didn't know as David wouldn't say, but from the lines around his mouth and the tone of his voice when he'd said it, it wasn't good. He'd taken Liz hostage and threatened her life to the extent that she'd been forced to shoot him. They knew that. David said that it looked like he'd planted the bombs at Robin's house. There were only two real choices as to what had happened. Either someone had forced Don to do it or he had snapped and it was all his doing. There were too many cases in the news of people suddenly going on killing sprees and their family having no idea about their state of mind for Alan to be able to shut up the traitorous part of his own mind.

What kind of father was he? He couldn't completely believe in his son...and if the part of him that he'd like to cut out was right, how could he not know his son at all?

What kind of father was he?

TBC...


	9. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9

Chapter 9

David looked around the office. Liz was in one of the meeting rooms, giving her statement to an agent under the watchful eye of one of the OPR agents. David had insisted the agents taking her statement be female, considering the sexual angle and the details Liz would have to recall. Nikki had called to fill him in on what Robin had told her of the events of the night and the morning. Robin seemed stable enough and her recollection gelled with what they had seen on the video, meaning that whatever drug she'd been given wasn't impairing her memory much, so he'd sent another female agent to help Nikki with taking her statement. It was a relief to know that she didn't remember anything worse than what they'd seen on the video. As much as David wanted to see for himself how she was doing, he didn't think it was good idea. She seemed to be able to separate Nikki from Don, but it probably would be harder with him or Colby, and he didn't think it a good idea to throw any males into the mix.

The elevator dinged and Doctor Bradford stepped out. The man was immaculately dressed in a suit, as he'd been the last time David had seen him, his expression serious. When David had presented the evidence that could indicate that Don was under duress to the ADIC, he'd asked for Bradford to be brought in. A psychological evaluation of the video and Don's actions could shed some light on whether Don could have been under duress. Bradford knew Don and had a baseline for his actions and nervous habits.

"Agent Sinclair."

"Doctor Bradford."

"I saw it on the morning news, so I wasn't too surprised by your call. Based on everything I've seen of Don Eppes, I have trouble buying it, assuming the news was even remotely accurate. Then again, the last time I saw him was a few months ago. Things can change."

It was somewhat reassuring to know that Don's shrink didn't think he could go off the deep end, but it wasn't proof. "We know that he attacked Robin Brooks, his girlfriend. It looks like she was drugged, then stripped and tied to her bed. We also know that he called Colby Granger and Liz Warner to what they thought was a scene and took Liz hostage. Liz was eventually forced to shoot him. There's some evidence that someone could have been controlling his actions, but not enough for him not to be charged if he survives. There's video of part of the attack on Robin, that we found on a laptop that was with Don, as well as a month of sex videos that we don't think Robin knew about. I was wondering whether you could take a look at it, give your opinion."

Bradford nodded. "Sure."

David led him towards another meeting room where there was a laptop with headphones already set up. "In here's probably best." He brought up the folder with the videos in it and clicked open the video of the attack.

"Have you noticed anything in Eppes' behaviour?"

"He's, uh..." David looked off into the distance, wanting to think about the things he had noticed and how to describe them. "He's been unsure about work, whether he should still be in the field, whether he should even be an agent any more, I think. And he, uh," he couldn't help but smile, "bought a motorcycle. Things seemed good with Robin. Otherwise, he was just Don." The last was said with a shrug, assuming that Bradford had some idea what Don was like. "The video's open, the others are in the folder. Let me know if you need anything."

Bradford nodded, sitting down in the chair beside the laptop and pulling the headphones on. Walking out of the room, David spotted Colby, slumped back dejectedly in his chair, his feet resting on his desk.

"That Bradford?" Colby asked, his voice gravelly as David sat on the edge of his own desk.

"Yeah."

"So the only numbers in the phonebook of the cell that Don had were the two for the bombs. They found two cameras at the house he called me and Liz to, but none in his SUV, the Ford or at his apartment. The ones at Robin's house were dusty, they'd been there for a while. There wasn't any power cord for the laptop, either, anywhere that they searched, although they haven't checked Charlie's house. And Don's fingerprints were on the outsides of the bombs."

"Yet, from the videos on the laptop, there definitely were cameras at Don's apartment at some point," David pointed out.

They had more evidence, although David wasn't sure what any of it meant any more. He rested his chin on his hand, letting himself zone out. They were all tired and emotionally worn out. Don was still in surgery and David didn't know whether to hope that he'd survive or not. If he hadn't been under duress and was convicted, prison was going to be hell for him, both as an FBI agent and a sex offender. Death would likely be more merciful. If he had been under duress and they could prove it, living was still going to be hell. David rubbed his fingers under his eyes and massaged his cheeks slightly before putting his hands back down.

"We need, uh, to figure out what evidence indicates he was under duress and what doesn't—what can be read both ways. And what other evidence might be useful."

"Yeah." Colby sounded just as tired as David felt. "How bad was it?" His eyes pleaded with David to tell him that it wasn't as bad as it had seemed.

"Robin?"

Colby nodded.

"Bad. But he didn't rape her."

It was Colby's turn to rest his head in his hands. "How the hell did we end up talking about our _boss_ , about _Don_ , raping his girlfriend?" He shook his head, eyebrows raised and brow furrowed, clearly frustrated and angry. "I've never seen anything that could explain this, have you?"

"No." That was the problem, it felt completely out of left field. _Maybe he_ was _under duress._

"Somebody has to have forced him, man. Somehow, somebody else is responsible." There was desperation in the words, desperation to believe in Don.

"Maybe," David allowed. Colby shot him a questioning look. "Until we have something that really proves either way, I can't—I have to believe that he's guilty. It's the only way I can deal with this."

"He believed in Ian, and he was right. I wouldn't have hesitated in his position and I would have killed an innocent man."

"You think that's why you didn't shoot Don when you had the chance?" David asked.

Colby shrugged, his eyes distant. "I don't know."

"Sometimes the play that's not in the book is the right one."

"Says the man who believes Don's guilty."

It was David's turn to shrug. "Doesn't mean I'm not hoping I'm wrong. The odds of someone else pulling the strings? They're just too damn low."

"So now is where we hope against the math, huh? Bet Charlie would love that."

David gave him a humourless smile. "In this situation, I think he would, considering what the other option is."

"The thing I can't figure out, in either scenario, is why Liz and I were allowed to keep our backup guns. I mean, Don knows we all carry backups and anyone who's watched even a bit of TV probably would too. Why even leave me as a witness, anyway? He could have just called Liz. That doesn't make sense, if Don's responsible."

David was coming back to his idea of a list. Seeing it all in black and white, written down, might provide the connections they needed. He stood up, gesturing for Colby to follow him, and went into the briefing room. The screen was blank but there was a white board set up, Don, Liz and Robin's pictures all on it. Perpetrator and victims. It hadn't been updated since they'd found Don. David pulled another white board forward and divided it into three columns: Don, unknown and either. They spent the next ten minutes adding the evidence to the columns, McGowan adding input after joining them. Some items were initially put in one column before an alternative explanation was provided by one of the three agents, forcing it into the either category. Everything that they could think of listed, David stood back. One column was the clear winner: either.

"We really need some clear evidence that indicates one way or another," Colby said, foot tapping against the floor and butt parked on the edge of a table.

There was a quick rap of knuckles against the open door and all three agents turned their heads.

"Doctor Bradford," David said.

"Agent Sinclair. I don't have any clear evidence, but I might have some things that could push it one direction."

"We're definitely listening," Colby said, hope in his voice, even though Bradford didn't indicate which direction it would be.

Bradford walked forward a few feet into the room and pulled the door shut behind him for privacy before placing the laptop and headphones on the nearest table.

"First I need to know something. When Eppes was holding Agent Warner hostage, was there a sexual element at any point?"

"Uh, yeah," David admitted.

"I need the specifics."

David rolled the whiteboard marker from one hand to the other. "He pinned Liz against the side of his SUV and, uh, ran the gun down her face. Then he kissed her and grabbed her on the butt. She stomped on his foot and he backed off." Despite it all, it still didn't sound like anything David could imagine Don doing.

Bradford nodded slowly. "Okay. I need to talk to Agent Warner, then."

David wasn't sure whether that was a good idea. Bradford was Don's therapist and a man, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to take the chance that it would make it harder for Liz to give her statement or freak her out. "She's giving her statement now, but I don't know—"

Bradford interrupted, laying all his cards on the table. "It's important and she's the only one who can tell me. Look, it may help prove that Don wasn't the one in control."

David looked at McGowan, who blinked, obviously surprised that David was seeking his opinion. McGowan nodded.

"All right," David said quietly, handing the whiteboard marker off to Colby and leading Bradford out the door. He crossed the bullpen and knocked quietly on the closed door of the room where Liz was giving her statement. The partially open blind showed him that Liz startled at the noise and he rethought the whole idea. The problem was that they needed answers. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He would have given anything to be able to go to bed for a week with no interruptions. The OPR agent stood up and opened the door, stepping out into the corridor with him and shutting the door quietly behind her.

"Yes, Agent?"

"Can you ask Agent Warner whether she'd be up to answering a couple of questions from Doctor Bradford? I'll be coming in, too. They're important."

The agent waited a second before answering, obviously thinking it over. "Sure."

Liz looked at him as the agent re-entered the room and David gave her a reassuring smile. There was a hint of a one in return before she turned away to listen to the OPR agent. At a nod from Liz, the agent opened the door again and they entered. David remained beside the door, giving Liz more space.

"How are you feeling?" Bradford asked, sitting down in a chair opposite Liz.

That got a definite smirk from Liz, much to David's relief. She was holding it together. "Could be better, but definitely could be worse. Better than being in the morgue right now." It was all said dryly, with the smirk still hovering around the edges.

"Good to hear," Bradford replied with a small smile. "Are you okay with me asking you some questions? There's not many, but you probably won't be comfortable with them."

Liz shrugged. "I want to know why this happened...and if I can help with that, then..." She shrugged again.

Bradford inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Agent Sinclair told me that Agent Eppes assaulted you, that he pinned you against the side of his SUV."

Liz nodded. "Yeah. He ran the gun down my face, kissed me and grabbed my butt, too."

"When he pinned you, were his hips against you?"

Liz tucked her hair behind her ear before clasping her hands tightly together. "Yes."

"Was he aroused?"

It was obvious that the question made everyone in the room, other than for Bradford who'd asked it calmly, uncomfortable. David shifted against the wall. The narrowing of Liz's eyes as she stared off into the distance indicated that she was thinking it over, probably trying to playback the memory and feelings. Her eyes refocussed and she gave Bradford a speculative look.

"He wasn't," she said with conviction. "I would have felt it if he was. And he kept me pinned until I stomped on his foot. He wasn't aroused."

That was potentially interesting.

"You were in a relationship with Agent Eppes in the past."

There was a nod from Liz in confirmation. Given the circumstances, she had to know that it would be brought up at some point.

"Did Agent Eppes ever push you to do anything you didn't want to do, sexually? Was he ever overly aggressive?"

That got a very quick reply. "No, never. And he never wanted me to roleplay being helpless or a victim, either." Liz was still thinking like an FBI agent, anticipating what Bradford's next question could be.

"One last question. Did he give you any explanation as to why?"

"He said that he'd asked Robin Brooks to marry him and she'd said no. Apparently that was my fault."

"Thank you," Bradford said, standing back up. David exited the room silently and crossed back to the briefing room, Bradford following and pulling the door shut behind him.

"Do you know when Eppes asked Miss Brooks to marry him?" Bradford asked.

"About a month ago."

That got a 'hmph' in response from Bradford.

"Why wait a month?" Colby asked, his voice going up in pitch at the end to indicate that he was wondering whether that was what had made Bradford make the sceptical noise.

"Exactly," Bradford replied. "I had a skim through the sex videos, there was definitely nothing wrong in that part of their relationship, and that was after she said no. And the video of the assault on Miss Brooks..." He shook his head as he trailed off, a frown on his face. "He wasn't aroused, and he wasn't aroused when he assaulted Agent Warner either. Considering the sexual nature of both assaults...it's a bit odd. There was no nervousness or real hesitation either, none of his nervous gestures, no tripping over words. Either he had no reason to be nervous or, if someone else was pulling the strings and telling him what to say and do, he'd pretty much shut down."

"No reason to be nervous, you mean like he's done it before." It was a speculation that David didn't want to make. He'd have to get another agent to look back through recent sexual assaults.

"It's one possible explanation." Bradford opened the laptop that he'd left on the desk, clicking open the video file from Robin's assault. "It's also a bit odd that neither assault went further. He didn't touch Miss Brooks' breasts or go past the top of her underwear. It was almost like it was designed to scare her more than anything...or like the person in charge didn't want to push Eppes too far. And then there's what you can just hear from the audio when he's out of the room during Miss Brooks' assault."

"I didn't think there really was anything on the audio from that part," McGowan said, puzzled. The microphone had been on Don and, without any speaking, the sound had pretty much died off.

"I was curious as to what he was doing when he was out of the room, so I turned it right up," Bradford replied. Having found the right part of the video he pressed play and turned the volume up as loud as it would go. They all moved closer to the laptop.

"Shhh, you know you want this."

The voice boomed out of the speaker, making it sound like Don was there in the room, almost yelling. There was breathing, presumably Don's, not loud, but there. There was a slight squeak as Don got up off the bed and then when he moved away there was the faint sound of footsteps. Robin's hall was carpeted, they wouldn't be loud. The footsteps continued on for ten or so seconds before there was what sounded like a thump. There were no more footsteps, only the sound of breathing. Then it started, a faint murmuring voice just above the static white noise of the microphone, reminding David of a scene from the "Sixth Sense", the words almost impossible to make out, but the rhythm indicating that it was something that was being repeated. It was hard to tell, but the voice did sound like Don. At one point David thought he could make out the word 'alive'.

"Can anyone make that out?" David demanded.

"I think he says 'alive', but..." Colby shook his head.

"Anybody else hear anything more than that?" David asked.

The other two men shook their heads and David pulled out his cell, calling the tech lab to ask them to try to enhance the sound. Bradford studied their list on the whiteboard as they waited to hear back. A faint feeling of hope was starting to outweigh David's general reluctance to believe that Don could be innocent, but it all depended on what was on the video. The laptop finally beeped, a new email in David's account. It was the enhanced audio. He quickly clicked it open. The tech had cut it off after Don's last words. There was the squeak of bedsprings, the footsteps, the thump that was preceded by a sound of something brushing against something else—that was new—the breathing and then the murmuring, still only barely audible and fading in and out.

"Alive's better than not alive, alive's better than not alive..."

It was the only thing Don murmured, repeated over and over, a mantra, and there was desperation and fear in the sound.

Don was afraid.

David let out a relieved breath, suddenly close to tears. He could believe in Don now. This was the evidence they needed.

"That's not the sound of a man who's doing this by choice."

TBC...


	10. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Robin's life had completely fallen apart—no happily ever after for her and Don—and yet the only thing she could think about was when she'd be able to get back into her house to retrieve her cell and purse and get some clothes of her own. Nikki had let her call her assistant, who'd gotten her some sweats and running shoes as soon as the stores had opened. She at least was no longer wearing scrubs, but she wanted the option of her own clothes, her own sweats that had been washed soft. Being completely covered from neck to foot was a nice feeling after the hours that she'd lain exposed and almost naked, but not having her own clothes almost felt like it was extending the violation. It was a reminder that she couldn't even go home: her home was a crime scene.

She had thought that giving her statement was going to be easier, after already having gone over what had happened with Nikki, but it wasn't. Remembering Don's coldness, his lack of caring at her suffering, the fear that she was going to die, him licking her neck, and his hands...

"You okay?"

Robin snapped out of the memory, suddenly aware that she'd drawn her legs up again and wrapped her arms around them. She couldn't even sit like a normal person. There was concern and compassion in Nikki's eyes as she looked at Robin and Robin suddenly didn't want to see it, didn't want what it implied. She wanted the fiery woman who couldn't ever say the right thing that Don had complained about when Nikki had first joined his team so that she had something to lash out against.

"I can't even return to my own house, so yeah, of course I'm fine."

"We're almost done with the statement," was all Nikki responded with. "Do you want to take a break?"

If a break would allow her to sleep dreamlessly for twenty-four hours and forget everything that had happened, she'd take it. The time she'd been unconscious had not been restful. Robin knew that she'd probably start to lose detail if she didn't finish the statement now, and she wasn't going to give Don Eppes even an inch to wriggle, not after what he'd done. She may still love him, but she also hated the bastard and dearly wanted him to pay for what he'd done to her.

"No, I'm okay. I just want to get this over with so I can sleep."

"Did Don ever say anything to indicate why he assaulted you?"

Robin shook her head. "No." She knew she should tell them about the time that he'd tried to restrain her during sex and she'd freaked out, and her thought that maybe this was about kinky sex, but she couldn't bring herself to. There wasn't much more that was private in her life now, so even though it might be relevant she was going to keep it to between her and Don as long as she could.

"Has he said anything about Liz Warner recently?"

That seemed out of left field. Robin frowned, not sure why the question was being asked. "No."

"She hasn't been an issue between you two?"

"Would I rather he didn't work with his ex? Yes. But I trusted him. What's Liz got to do with this?" The questions were making Robin start to wonder whether there _had_ been something going on between Liz and Don. She hadn't seen anything, but it seemed like she'd missed a lot of things.

"So, to be clear, you didn't say anything to make him think that the reason you said no to his marriage proposal was because of Liz Warner?"

"No. Is Don saying that's the reason why? He's blaming Liz?" Robin shook her head. That didn't make any sense. She'd been very clear why she'd said no and that she would say yes in the future. Don could be dense sometimes—and sometimes seemingly on purpose—but she knew that he'd understood why she'd said no. "I...I even told him that when he was really ready to ask me, I'd say yes."

Later on Don had said jokingly that they were pre-engaged. She'd liked that idea, committed to the idea of committing to commitment. A thought suddenly occurred to her, something that she'd been too focussed on herself before to ask.

"How did you get Don?"

Nikki shifted slightly in her chair, not quite meeting Robin's gaze. It wasn't a good sign, but of what, Robin wasn't sure. She didn't think that Nikki would have lied to her about Don being in custody. Had he hurt someone else...was he dead? Dread started pooling in her stomach.

"After he left you, he uh...he called Liz and Colby to meet him." Nikki looked at Robin steadily, anger obvious in her eyes and the curt tone of her voice. "He took Liz hostage. She had to shoot him to get away."

Don. Don had been shot.

"Is Liz okay?"

"She's fine."

"Is he—"

"He was in surgery last I heard."

How were you supposed to feel when the man who assaulted you, who you thought was going to kill you, but who you still loved—how were you supposed to feel when he could be dying? Robin angrily wiped the tears that had snuck down her face away. She wasn't going to feel upset or worried for Don. She couldn't. Everything that they'd been together had been destroyed by his actions.

She needed to stop loving him.

"I have to ask this, did you ever film any sex videos, in your bedroom or his?"

Robin blinked. _It can't be...he can't have..._ "No."

"Did you know that there was a video camera in your bedroom?"

Every blow that had come, Robin hadn't thought it could get worse, but somehow it still did. She was starting to wish that Liz had killed Don, and made him suffer beforehand. "No. He _filmed_ us? Oh, God." Her voice was shaky and she felt cold, her skin prickly. "Please tell me he didn't film what he did to me? Please tell me you...you haven't found video of that. Please." From the look on Nikki's face, they had. "Oh, God." Robin buried her face in her hands, feeling humiliated and violated all over again. She clenched her jaw shut, restraining all the tears that wanted to come, telling herself to be angry instead. Lifting her face back up, she snapped, "Liz should have been a better shot."

She meant it, too. The love she'd felt for him wasn't completely gone, but it was well and truly on its way out, replaced by anger and bitterness. The thought that people, people she'd worked with, and people she didn't know, were watching videos of her having sex, of her being assaulted and humiliated, it was the final straw.

"Are we done?" Her voice was surprisingly strong, considering how she was feeling.

"Yeah, I think we are." Nikki was looking at her like she was going to flip out at any second. _I'm not Don._

"Can I use your cell again?" She'd call Emma, another attorney and the closest friend she had in LA, to see whether she could sleep at her apartment until she could get back into her house. If she didn't sleep soon she was going to crash. She didn't want to think about what had happened any more, not for a few hours.

"Sure," Nikki replied.

* * *

David gestured for Bradford to join him in the meeting room where he'd set him up before with the laptop. Once they were inside, David closed the door, not wanting anyone else to hear the conversation.

"If Don, if he's been forced to do all of this...what, uh, what should we expect...when he wakes up, I mean."

When, not if. David now wasn't willing to entertain the thought of Don dying.

Bradford sighed, thinking about the question. "He's been forced to do something completely against his nature, something which hurt people he cares about. Looking at that tape, I'd say he's tried to detach himself as much as possible from the situation. By the end of it, who knows how far back he'd buried himself in his head." He shook his head. "He could be depressed, feeling guilty for what he had to do, suicidal. He may just be happy to have a second chance. It's hard to say, but you're going to have to watch him. This won't be something he'll get over easily."

"Trying to figure out what Don's thinking and feeling, that's never easy to do. When Buck Winters escaped from prison and came after him last year, even his dad couldn't tell what was going on his head." Don had scared the crap out of David, with the phone calls that he didn't tell anyone about and the absolute trust he was asking for without letting anyone know what he intended. It had almost felt like Don had been ready to die. In the end, David knew that he'd been anything but, and that somehow he'd figured out what Buck really wanted, but it had been a scary time, particularly when Alan, the one person who usually could read Don, had been so terrified too.

"Don keeps his cards close to his chest, that's just how he is. But he won't get through this alone, particularly if Miss Brooks doesn't want anything to do with him. Call me when he wakes up, after you've talked to him. I'll want to assess how he is. Otherwise, it's just going to take time."

"Do you think he and Robin have a chance?" That was the major hurdle, as far as David was concerned. It had seemed the real deal and he didn't want to see that ruined, afraid that it was the one thing that Don really wouldn't be able to recover from.

Bradford bobbed his head slightly from side to side. "Possibly, but yet again, it'll take a lot of time. It won't just be Miss Brooks that'll have to deal with him being near her, let alone touching her, Don's going to have issues with that as well. That's assuming that either of them will even be willing to try."

David rubbed his eyes with his fist to try to force them to refocus. In a few hours he was going to take a nap, no matter what was going on at that point, and insist that Colby and Nikki did the same. He ran his hand down his face. "Okay. Have you got any bead on the person who's controlling this, if Don was really under duress?"

Bradford snorted slightly. "He's a sick bastard, that much I can tell you, but you've probably already figured that out. There'll probably be some sexual crimes in his history, considering what he made Don do. And it wouldn't surprise me if there's not something personal there, that he's had some sort of interaction with Don in the past. He's highly intelligent and patient; he's been watching them for over a month before doing anything. Otherwise, you're going to need to wait to hear what Don has to say."

Waiting, waiting and more waiting.

"Okay, thank you."

Bradford looked him up and down before pinning him with an astute gaze. "How are you coping?"

David smiled slightly. Always working, just like they were. "I'm coping. I'll be better when we find more evidence that indicates that somebody else was behind this and when he makes it through surgery."

"If you need to talk..." Bradford left the invitation hanging in the ether as he walked out the now open door.

"I've got your number," David replied tiredly.

* * *

"Why can't we go in there?" Charlie's voice was quiet, hoarse and almost breaking on the words. "What do they think that we're going to do, that Don's going to do?"

"I don't know."

Alan didn't take his eyes off the window, off the sight of his boy lying in a hospital bed again. The doctors were very hopeful, the main issue being the blood Don had lost from the two bullet wounds. The damage that the bullets had caused had apparently been relatively simple to repair and should heal well. There was an oxygen mask on Don's face and he was very still. Alan couldn't see the monster they all told him was there; Don just looked like Alan's son, frail and unconscious and alone. Alan tried to block out the agent standing guard by the door, who'd stopped them from being able to go in and see Don. Don was a prisoner and his family weren't allowed to see him. They'd waited hours to find out whether he'd make it, but they couldn't even sit at his bedside.

"Alan, Charlie."

At the voice behind him, Alan turned to find David standing awkwardly, an almost apologetic look on his face. He looked tired and stressed; they all did. How much he'd overheard of their conversation wasn't clear.

"Why can't I see my son? He's unconscious, it's not like he can do anything. And if you're worried about me telling him something or giving him something, you can come in as well to keep an eye on us." Alan didn't censor his tone, the bitterness he felt at being denied a chance to see his son. At the implication that he might do something illegal, when all he wanted to do was touch Don's face and hold his hand; to confirm that his son was still alive. Remind himself that this was his boy, the monster that they talked about could not be him. Silence the part of his brain that said otherwise.

"I'm sorry." David actually sounded it. "I can take you in for a few minutes, but that's all. Believe me, Alan, we're doing all that we can to find out what happened and why." There was an emphasis on the last sentence that sounded almost like David was on Don's side, or wanted to be.

"You can't seriously think that he'd hurt Robin or Liz." Charlie shook his head, unable to let go of the fact that Don's team weren't supporting him.

"Charlie, we _know_ he did. _Why_ he did it, that we're still figuring out."

Yet again it felt to Alan like David wanted to say more, and was trying to say more with his tone and the emphasis of the little that he'd said. Charlie wasn't picking up on it, and maybe Alan was reading something that wasn't there into it, but it gave him a bit of hope. And at this point, hope was what he needed.

"It's not Don. It can't be." Charlie was lost, his eyes pleading for somebody to reassure him, emotion he couldn't hide raising the pitch of his voice. Alan wanted to be able to give him the answers he needed, wanted to be able to help one of his sons, but he couldn't. Answers weren't his to give, they were things that they had to wait for. "Why aren't you looking for who really is responsible?"

"We are exploring _all_ the possibilities. Just let me do my job, Charlie. Please. For your brother's sake."

David's plea was going to fall on deaf ears as far as Charlie was concerned, until David gave him the answer he needed. There was no patience for evidence, procedure and process, even if that was what it took to clear Don's name. And the more David spoke, the more Alan was convinced that that was what he was trying to do, clear Donnie's name. Something had changed since David had spoken to them about Don being shot; David had been professional and distant, his tone and brusqueness showing that he didn't believe that his boss could be innocent. Now Alan thought that maybe David did think that Don had been forced into it. Something had changed, something that David didn't want to talk about yet.

"Charlie," Alan said sharply. "Don't you want to see your brother?"

"What? Yes, yes of course."

The agent at the door finally let them into the room at David's gesture, and they walked in quietly, three mice tiptoeing in front of a cat, hoping not to wake it. Charlie hung back as Alan approached the bed, hand automatically reaching out to smooth one of Don's almost curls off his forehead. He let his hand rest for a few moments, feeling the warmth of his skin. The stubble and black circles under Don's eyes, in combination with his slack features, made him look older and world weary. Even unconscious, he looked like he was in pain; not just physical, but emotional too.

"We're here for you, son. We love you," Alan murmured. He moved back, motioning that Charlie could take his place.

There was a hesitation before Charlie would go to stand next to his brother, but he finally did, grabbing Don's limp hand and clasping it tightly in his own.

"You just need to wake up, okay, bro? Please, just...just wake up."

Alan put his arm around Charlie's shoulders as he backed away from the bed, clasping him briefly in a hug before letting go when Charlie nodded wordlessly, tears in his eyes. There was no missing the sadness in David's when Alan looked at him. David gestured that they had to leave and Alan steered Charlie to the door, looking back one last time at Don.

All he could see was his boy: tired, hurt, and alone. Don wasn't a monster, there would be another explanation for what happened. Alan was sure of it.

"Alan, Charlie," David said when they were standing outside the room again. "I don't want to ask this, but, would you allow us to search your house? I can get a warrant, if necessary, but it'd be easier..."

"No." Charlie's answer had been immediate, his face expressing his absolute distaste for the question.

"Charlie—" David started saying, a hand up in a stop gesture.

"No. I'm not going to help your witch hunt against Don."

Alan's knee jerk reaction was the same as Charlie's. He didn't want some faceless FBI agents going through everything in his house, things that were his and Margaret's as well as Charlie's. Could the memories he had be the same after, particularly with what he and Margaret had stood up for over their lives? But the practical part of his mind then took over. Considering how much time Don did spend at the house it would be easy for David to get a warrant. And neither Charlie nor he had anything to hide, well, he knew he didn't, and if Charlie and he believed that Don wasn't responsible for his actions, then they couldn't think that there was anything at the house that would implicate him.

"Charlie, I think we should let them."

Charlie's betrayal and disbelief at Alan's words was obvious.

"You heard what David said, he'll just get a warrant," Alan continued, "and we have nothing to hide. _Don_ has nothing to hide."

"Unless you think he does," David added, putting Charlie in a position he couldn't wriggle out of. Refuse the search and look like he didn't believe in Don's innocence.

"Fine," Charlie snapped. The inevitable argument that they would have later on, that Alan could deal with.

"I'll make sure they treat your house and belongings with respect," David promised, pulling his cell out of his pocket.

"You do that," Alan responded, turning back to look at Don through the window. He just hoped that he'd made the right choice.

TBC...


	11. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Colby rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he strolled back to his desk. He'd gotten a two hour nap; learning in the army how to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, no matter how stressed you were feeling, had come in handy many times since. The sleep wasn't enough, but he felt a lot more alert and like he could actually walk in a straight line and even operate heavy machinery.

"Wow, you sure didn't get enough sleep, you still look ugly," Nikki said sarcastically, with a slight smirk when he sat down at his desk. "While you've been doing your sleeping beauty routine, I've been compiling what we've got and what still hasn't been followed up."

"And?" His voice was still sleep roughened as he looked at his coffee cup. Sadly it hadn't magically rinsed and refilled itself.

"And nobody's followed up on the Ford yet."

That woke him up more. The origin of that car was a crucial piece of evidence, but somehow it had slipped through the cracks. "Has it been reported stolen?"

"Nope. I was thinking that maybe we should pay a visit to, uh," she looked down at a piece of paper, "Brett Forsythe, see whether there's a reason why he hasn't told anyone his car's missing."

"He got any priors?" Colby asked as he stood back up, his stomach growling slightly in protest at its lack of food.

"Nope, he's a regular boy scout. Lunch on the way?" Nikki pulled her jacket off her chair, joining him as he made his way to the elevator.

"You read my mind. Anything else come in? Any news on Don?" Colby pressed the button to call the elevator and turned to face Nikki.

"Don's out of surgery and the doctors think he'll make it. There's no fingerprints anywhere on the insides of the bombs and the design is something that could be gotten off the internet, apparently."

"If Don put them together, seems a bit stupid to use gloves to build them, then put his fingerprints all over the outside."

"Yeah," Nikki agreed as the doors slid open. The elevator was empty, meaning that they could keep talking. "To be honest, I'm still getting used to the idea that we're now thinking there was someone else involved." They stepped onto it and Colby pushed the button for the parking garage before leaning against the back corner. "Particularly after taking Robin's statement. She wishes that Liz had been a better shot, and at the time I have to say I didn't blame her."

Colby grimaced. It was going to take a hell of a lot to repair their relationship, if it could even be repaired. David had wanted to hold off telling Liz, Robin, Alan and Charlie their suspicions about there being someone controlling Don until they had firmer proof. While Colby agreed on one level, on another he knew that every minute that people were thinking that Don had wanted to hurt Liz and Robin was going to make it that much harder to get over in the end.

"Did anything new come out of Robin's statement?"

"She had no idea about the cameras, definitely hadn't given her permission to film any sex videos. And the biggie, she'd told Don _why_ she'd refused to marry him, and it had nothing to do with Liz. She'd even told him that she'd say yes, when he was really ready to ask."

That left Colby speechless. It invalidated everything that Don had said to Liz and destroyed the one motive he'd given. The only motive that they had.

Nikki inclined her head at him. "That was David's reaction when I told him. Sounds like a good reason to assault your girlfriend and abduct your ex, huh, doesn't it? I have to say, it's starting to make more and more sense that someone else is behind this."

"Yeah," Colby agreed.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, a man joining them. They stopped talking shop, both wanting to show some respect to their boss by not risking extra gossip.

"Subway?" Nikki asked. "It's feeling like that kind of day."

"That works for me."

They got off at the parking lot and took Nikki's car. Detour to Subway for six-inch subs out of the way and both their appetites sated, they pulled up a few numbers away from Brett Forsythe's house. They waited for a few minutes to see whether there was any activity, and when there was none pulled back out and parked in front. Both kept their hands on their guns as they approached the front door. The house and front yard looked well kept, lacy, pale blue curtains preventing them from looking in the windows. Colby knocked and they waited. When there was no answer, he knocked louder.

"I'll check around back," Nikki said, slipping quietly around the side of the house, glock at the ready.

Colby glanced around at the other houses, noting a curtain on the house to the right twitch. A nosy neighbour might give them some answers, if Forsythe wasn't home. He pounded his fist on the door again and shouted, "FBI, Mr Forsythe. We just want to talk to you."

There wasn't any sound from the house and the windows that he could see were shut. It was likely that Forsythe was at work, although why he wouldn't have reported his car stolen if he'd needed it to drive was a question that needed answering. Nikki came back around the other side of the house, her gun now holstered. She shook her head, curls bouncing.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home."

"I think the neighbour is." Colby gestured in the direction of the house on the right. The curtain had twitched again. They both walked back down the path, out onto the sidewalk and up to the neighbour's front door. Colby could hear a TV on in the background and the sounds of kids laughing. It fitted with the overturned tricycle beside the door. He didn't even have to knock, the neighbour pulled the door open an inch, but left it on the latch, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Yes?"

"FBI ma'am," Colby said, holding up his ID. "Do you know whether Mr Forsythe is home?"

"He's out of town, on a business trip. Has been for the last five days."

 _Huh._ That explained why he hadn't reported his car stolen.

"Do you know whether anybody's been by, maybe to borrow his car?"

"Not that I know of, but I haven't been home all the time." The woman looked down and Colby saw a boy of around three years old who'd squeezed himself in between his mom and the door, looking up at Colby curiously. "Josh, go play with your brother." She tried to push him away, but he resisted. "Anything else?" she asked, a clear tinge of exasperation in her voice.

"Just one thing, do you know who he works for, so that we can try to contact him?"

"Even better," the woman said, "I've got his cell number. In case something happened with the house. He's away a lot."

Cell number acquired, Colby called it and explained the situation to Forsythe, before asking permission to check out his garage, to see if the door was open or the lock broken. Permission given, they walked back up to Forsythe's garage. The man's car should be there, he hadn't lent it to anyone. It wasn't an automatic door; it had a handle with a lock embedded in it. Colby tried turning it and it did so easily, allowing him to open the door. It had either been broken or unlocked somehow. The garage was empty, unsurprisingly.

Unfortunately, unless they found fingerprints or DNA from someone else in the garage, or a neighbour had seen who had taken the car, the Ford wasn't going to help Don.

* * *

What was left of Don's team, plus several of the OPR and Security Division agents were gathered in the conference room. A prosecutor from another office who didn't know Robin was flying in the following morning to provide an objective read on the evidence and answer as to whether Don would be charged. David wanted to know where they stood, a bit over twelve hours after Don had kidnapped Liz. Once he had some coherent idea of what they did and didn't have, he'd report to the ADIC again. It surprised him that Wright was willing to take as much of a back seat as he had.

"All right, what have we got?"

"We just got a report back from the lab," Colby said from a seat over to the right. "Both Robin _and_ Don had GHB in their systems."

"Which means he drank some of the wine and may have fallen unconscious too," Nikki concluded. "Would give the perp access to put in an earpiece and the microphone, and put the bombs at the doors."

"Or he drugged himself, either by drinking some of the wine or separately. GHB is a party drug or he may have wanted to make it look like he'd been drugged." McGowan had offered to provide the voice of the prosecution, giving the take on the evidence that indicated that Don was responsible. He'd said with a dry laugh that nobody liked him, anyway, so he might as well be devil's advocate even if they now largely believed that Don had been under duress.

"Then what about the microphone and earwig?" David asked. "Have the techs found anything?"

If the perpetrator was using the microphone for audio surveillance and the earwig to pass on instructions, he couldn't be that far from Don at all times. There'd be a car following him and the perp would have probably been watching when Don transferred Liz between the cars and at the final scene at the parking lot. There was almost no way that a person that was this sadistic was going to miss out on the endgame of his plans.

"It's going to take time, they've got a lot of footage to go through to look for cars that might have been trailing Don," Colby answered. "When they get some possible vehicles, we'll follow them up."

"The microphone could have been to record it all for his own amusement later and the earwig to make us think he was under duress."

"Yeah, but why does only one of the videos on the laptop have audio, then?" Nikki pointed out. "And why cameras at the house where he abducted Liz at all? Why'd he remove the one at his apartment?"

Colby inclined his head, twirling a pen in his hand. "And why the cameras in the kitchen and living room of Robin's house? They were unneeded, particularly when he wasn't recording any of it to keep."

"Fair point," McGowan agreed. "But if he was under surveillance, why weren't there cameras in his SUV and the other car, the Ford?"

"There could have been in the SUV," David disagreed. "It took us a while to find it, that would have given time for somebody to remove them. As to the Ford, it looks like this person wanted us to think that Don was guilty. If there was a camera in there, with the earwig and the microphone, there's a greater chance that we'd start to wonder."

"But if he wasn't under video surveillance in the Ford he could have done something to let Liz know what was going on," Nikki realised.

"That's assuming he knew he wasn't," one of the OPR agents jumped in.

"He would have checked at every point to see whether he was," Colby disagreed, looking over his shoulder to see who was speaking. "Robin's house, the SUV, the house where Liz was abducted, the Ford. He'd have tried to see whether there was any chance to let someone else know what was going on. Wouldn't he?" He turned back to David a look of puzzlement on his face.

At that, David thoughtfully rubbed his hand on his chin. Bradford had said that Don looked detached, that who knew how far back he was in his head by the end of it. Maybe he tested the surveillance in the SUV and just assumed that it would be there in the Ford. And maybe he just didn't care by that point. "Maybe not."

"All our training tells us to test any surveillance, if we get into that situation," Nikki objected.

"You were trained for that exact scenario?" Colby asked with dry amusement. "I see what David's saying. With all that happened, all he had been forced to do, he may not have bothered at that point. I mean, the parking lot, with Liz? That was only going to end one way and he didn't do anything to stop it. Still, it's a hell of a risk not having a camera in the Ford."

"You're saying he was suicidal." The tone of Nikki's voice said she didn't believe it.

"I'm saying he was doing what it took to protect Robin and that maybe his head was a bad place to be in at that point."

"If there was no third party, he definitely was suicidal," McGowan interjected. "He knew Liz would have a back up weapon and he deliberately put her in a situation where she could act and would use it. He could have easily fired before her and he didn't."

Colby shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "But if it was all just an elaborate suicide by ex-girlfriend, why bother with everything else?" He gestured in the air at their list on the white board. "The cameras, calling me as well, the recording of the video, the earwig and microphone. He was going to be dead, it wasn't going to be much use to him. And in that situation, I doubt his reputation would matter to him."

"The motive he gave? Robin's refusal to marry him? It doesn't hold up. It happened over a month ago, it had nothing to do with Liz as Don had implied, and Robin had said that she'd say yes if he asked again. And with the videos going back over a month, maybe there was more than just cameras initially in Robin's house and Don's apartment. It would explain how the perp knew what happened."

They all mulled over Nikki's words. It did pretty much destroy any motive Don might have.

"It's possible Don just didn't believe Robin," was the only suggestion McGowan could offer on the opposite side of the coin. "Or that it was the only thing he could think of, when asked."

"What about the physical and forensic evidence?" David asked.

Colby held up a hand, counting on his fingers as he spoke. "Don's fingerprints on the outside of the bomb, nothing on the inside. Don's fingerprints on the laptop, but nothing around the battery. His, Liz's and the owner of the car were the only fingerprints in or on the Ford. The power cable for the laptop can't be found anywhere. There's traces of GHB in the wine stain on the floor at Robin's house, but the glasses and wine bottle have been rinsed too well. Oh, and there's no fingerprints on the earwig or microphone."

"Why have a laptop without a power cable?" Nikki asked rhetorically. They all knew that that was one piece of evidence that only worked in Don's favour.

When the room was quiet for a few seconds, Colby said, "It's still all circumstantial that someone else was pulling the strings."

The only solid evidence they had was what implicated Don: Robin's assault and Liz's abduction and assault.

"Hopefully the techs will find another car on the traffic cams."

David agreed with Nikki. They needed to find the person who was behind it all.

* * *

David closed his eyes and leaned back against his closed apartment door. The only time he'd been tireder had been with that bad train wreck. The entire day had felt like he was on a train that was just about to spectacularly crash into something; out of control, terrified and believing for half of it that the person who was driving wanted them to crash.

He exhaled loudly, letting his head slump back. Pulling his tie undone, he tossed it onto the arm of a chair as he undid the collar of his shirt. Food, some TV, a shower and then bed. And in the morning he'd get to interview Don.

Don. He'd woken half an hour before David had left the office, but was still very groggy. The doctor did not want anyone talking to him until morning.

David opened his freezer and pulled out a microwaveable pasta dish with chicken, carrots and beans. He started it cooking while he turned on his TV. There was news on the channel and he quickly switched to another. The amount of calls they'd started getting from lawyers from their recent and not so recent arrests proved that the local media had covered the events of the morning well. Nikki had been the only one masochistic enough to want to see what they were reporting at the end of the day, and it hadn't changed much from the initial reports, other than for including Robin's name. They'd managed to keep most of the details and their theories from the media.

Before David had left, Colby had spoken with him about when they'd let Robin, Liz, Alan and Charlie know about the new direction the investigation was taking. Until they had a possible lead on a car following Don or Don himself said that he'd been under duress, David didn't want to jinx it. He wanted there to be very little doubt, to not raise their hopes up and force Robin and Liz to completely re-evaluate what had happened only to have to possibly tell them that they were wrong, that it had been Don responsible. He didn't want to leave Liz and Robin wallowing in hate and fear of Don, but he wanted to be sure, to protect them. They'd been through enough.

He flicked through a few channels, but there wasn't anything on that would interest him. Deciding it was one of those nights, he pulled out his _Firefly_ dvds and put the first disc in. It was one of his most rewatched set of dvds. The movie, _Serenity_ , was also much watched and loved, and every time he watched it he couldn't help but think that Charlie looked an awful lot like Mr Universe. He'd shown a clip from it to Charlie and Don one time to prove his point. It had greatly amused Don, particularly with the wedding to the love-bot. Charlie had proved that he'd likely watched the entire movie later when the next time David had brought him data he'd quoted it: "You guys always bring me the very best violence."

The microwave dinged and David retrieved his dinner before sitting down to watch the show. He woke up later to find that whatever episode he was watching must have finished and the disc had returned back to the menu. He'd been tireder than he thought. Not bothering with a shower, he turned the TV off, cleaned his teeth and crawled into bed, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

* * *

In Pasadena, Charlie frantically worked on a blackboard in his garage while Amita slept on the sofa behind him, having given up on trying to get him to go to bed.

Alan lay awake in his own bed, trying to hold the sobs in.

TBC...


	12. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The first part of the assessment that Bradford had made of Don's possible mental state seemed pretty accurate. Don's gaze was far away and not once, since David had come into the room, had he focussed on or responded to David or McGowan. The lawyer that Alan had hired had apparently been summarily fired by Don and had left just as the agents had arrived. Don's expression was blank and it was like he wasn't home. He looked like he'd given up on life. David had never seen him so shut down. It was frustrating; they couldn't help him unless he talked. They needed him to admit that he had been under duress, that someone had threatened Robin's life.

"Don," David tried again, "what happened yesterday?"

With a slow blink, Don replied quietly, "I hurt Robin and Liz."

 _Finally. He speaks._

"Why?" David asked.

Yet again there was no reply. With the admission that Don had made and nothing else from him, it wouldn't look good, unless they found the third party involved. David had hoped that Don would ask how Robin and Liz were, show some concern, but he hadn't. He was too lost inside his own head to even care whether Robin and Liz were okay. _Or he really is responsible and he doesn't care._

"We found a microphone and an earwig on you. Did someone make you hurt them? Did someone threaten to hurt or kill you or Robin unless you did what they said?"

More silence and still no eye contact. Don wasn't going to help himself.

"Don, if someone forced you to do this, I want to help you. It wouldn't be your fault. You don't want to go to prison for something you didn't do, do you? Did you plant the bombs?"

There was still silence.

"Don, they could hurt someone else, if we don't stop them. Please, help me stop them."

It wasn't working. Maybe he could make Don angry and provoke a response, a denial, out of him. He hadn't wanted to take that approach, but nothing else had worked so far.

"So, _you_ drugged Robin, stripped her, tied her up and terrorised her," David said, his tone harsh. "What did she do to deserve that? We saw the videos, it looked like she was pretty good in bed, hell," he put some laughter into his voice, "I wouldn't have kicked her out, but that wasn't enough for you. She wouldn't _marry_ you, so you thought, why not take what I want, and why not take Liz, too, while I'm at it. Is that what happened, Don? Are you that monster?"

Don's jaw had clenched slightly and his adam's apple had bobbed as he'd swallowed, but that was the only response David had gotten. _What on earth is it going to take? Don, please help yourself._

"Okay, maybe you don't care about yourself. But don't you think that Robin and Liz deserve answers as to why you hurt them? It's not about you, it's about them. Give them the closure they need."

Nothing was getting through to him, he was still staring into space. There was no doubt in David's mind that he was listening, but he was so caught up in whatever was going on in his head that he wasn't talking. David sighed. "Fine, enjoy prison. You're going to be there a long time."

The threat made no dent. David abruptly stood up and walked out of the room, McGowan following behind him.

"Dammit," David cursed, barely resisting the urge to slam his fist into the wall. "Why the hell won't he help himself?" He closed his eyes for a few seconds, getting his emotions back under control.

"Give him time and maybe he will."

"He could be charged before that happens," David objected.

"Then we need to find the evidence that proves there was someone else involved," McGowan said decisively.

* * *

Nikki pushed open the door to the electronics store, holding it long enough for Colby to grab it as he followed her, pulling her sunglasses off as soon as she was inside.

"I'm just surprised that our every move is no longer being watched. It's almost like they trust us," she said with a wry smile, happy to no longer have her OPR shadow.

"Maybe McGowan put in a good word with the ADIC," Colby answered.

"Maybe," Nikki agreed. She pointed as a guy in a white shirt with the store's logo on it approached. He looked geeky enough to be able to tell her the specs of any system in the store.

"Can I help you?"

Nikki flashed her badge. "FBI. We'd like to speak to the manager."

The salesperson's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Sure," he said, turning away. He briefly turned back. "Just let me go and get her." He hurried off, winding through the shelves leading to the back of the store.

"Think it's going to make his blog?"

"He's probably already tweeted it," Colby replied with a grin.

Nikki started ambling towards the cashier's desk, the manager would undoubtedly need the computer. Spotting an animatronic dog that did flips on the shelf, she picked up the display model. "I've always wanted one of these. Guaranteed love and you don't have to feed it."

"What do you call batteries then?" Colby smirked.

"An essential part of every girl's life." The words were out before Nikki had thought them through, and it got a snort from Colby. She glared at him, eyebrow raised. "For the remote control for the TV, you pervert."

Colby raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, you didn't have to. I know how your mind works."

Not that his automatic conclusion was necessarily wrong, it just wasn't the whole picture. Batteries had multiple uses. She put the toy back on the shelf as she spotted what was likely the manager approaching. The woman, who looked more professional than Nikki had expected, was being trailed by the salesperson who'd initially tried to serve them.

"Linda Howe," the manager said, holding out a hand to shake. Nikki grasped it briefly and Colby followed her with a shake and a soft 'hi'.

"How can I help you?"

"Agents Betancourt and Granger of the FBI," Nikki introduced them, gesturing to herself and Colby at the right points. "We understand that you sold a Dell laptop with this serial number." She pulled the piece of paper with the number on it out of her pocket and handed it to the manager. "We need to know when it was sold and to who."

"Let me just look it up," the manager said, glancing at the paper as she walked around the desk to the computer at the register. A minute or so of typing and mouse clicks and Linda spoke again. "Looks like it was bought nine days ago, but they paid with cash, so there's nothing that identifies who bought it. They didn't buy anything else with it. And before you ask, our CCTV is recorded over each week, it would have been wiped on Sunday."

"Who took the sale?" Colby asked.

"That would be Adam," Linda replied. "He's working today. Hey, Mark," she called. Nikki turned to see who she was calling. Their geeky salesguy's head popped up over a nearby shelf. "Can you get Adam? He's out the back." Mark's head bobbed and he walked off to the back room again. "Can I interest you in anything electronic, while we're waiting?"

"Agent Betancourt's rather interested in batteries."

Nikki gave him an 'I can't believe you just said that' glare, before looking back at the manager. "No, we're fine thanks."

"Actually, I need a new remote for my Xbox." When he saw that Nikki had raised her eyes in disbelief, he said, "What? I do. It's been dropped too many times."

"They're in the accessories section over to your right there," the manager replied, choosing wisely to ignore their byplay.

"Okay, thanks."

They waited another thirty seconds before Adam, who couldn't be older than nineteen, joined them at the desk.

"These FBI agents want to know what you can remember about this customer." Linda pointed at the information on the computer screen.

"He was white, late twenties, maybe," Adam said after a few seconds. "Short brown hair. That's all I can remember, sorry. You're lucky I remember that much, it's only because he paid cash that I took any notice. Don't see that much for computers."

Colby held out the photo-board he'd been carrying. Adam leaned forward to inspect it.

"Is the man who bought it in any of these photos?" Colby asked. The photo-board included a recent shot of Don plus similar looking men around his age.

"Nah," Adam replied, after looking it carefully over. "They're all too old."

It was definitely not Don. He hadn't bought the computer. Nikki felt a flood of relief flow through her.

"Probably a stupid question," Nikki said, tapping her index finger against the desk, "but it comes with a power cable, right?"

"Ah, yeah," Adam answered. "All laptops do."

"Right, thanks for your help." Nikki flashed them a grateful smile and turned away. "Go, get your remote control," she told Colby. She was drawn back to the animatronic dog while she waited for his sale to go through. They really were cute.

* * *

"AUSA Sanchez," the prosecutor said, shaking David's hand.

"Agent Sinclair."

The prosecutor had already arrived and was looking through the evidence and witness statements when David had gotten back to the office from the hospital. He'd left the man to it as he'd followed up on any new developments. There were several possibilities of vehicles that could have been following Don, with how spaced out the various traffic cams and red light cameras were. The techs said that in a few hours they should have narrowed it down more, once they included whether the cars had been out to the Valley. David had run the plates they'd given anyway, but none had come up as stolen. Although, considering the fact that the Ford had been stolen but not reported as so, the other car could be the same. None of the neighbours of the Ford's owner had seen anybody suspicious hanging around or anybody stealing the car. Colby had called to let him know that the laptop hadn't been bought by Don, the description didn't match.

"Is there anything new, that's not in what I've looked at?" Sanchez asked.

"Ah, yeah, a few things. Firstly, the laptop was bought nine days ago with cash. The description of the man who bought it is white, late twenties, short brown hair."

"Not Agent Eppes then," Sanchez observed, a contemplative look on his face.

"No," David agreed. "I interviewed Agent Eppes at the hospital. He admitted to hurting Agent Warner and Miss Brooks, but wouldn't say anything further. And I mean, _literally_ wouldn't say anything further."

"At the instruction of his lawyer?"

"He doesn't have one. He fired the lawyer that his father hired. We're still chasing up on whether there was a car following him, that could have been the person controlling him."

"Hmm," Sanchez said, thoughtfully rubbing his hand on his chin. "There's a pretty good case for not charging Agent Eppes, but it's not quite enough yet. He needs to admit that he was under duress _or_ you need to find the person who put him under duress and some evidence that indicates they were involved. Without that, there's nothing clear to show that he was being forced, it's all circumstantial. They'll push for him to be charged."

"Okay."

If they could find a car following Don, David would have another try at talking to him. The additional leverage might be enough to get Don to break his silence. David had to talk to Bradford first, though, see whether the psychologist had any brilliant ideas on how to get Don to talk, or whether he wanted to evaluate Don himself.

It was meant to be easier now...instead Don was making it harder, for everyone involved.

"Have you let either Agent Warner or Miss Brooks know that you think Agent Eppes was under duress?"

David shook his head. "No. I want to hold off until we're certain. They've been through enough."

"Good call."

A good call, but not the emotionally right one, David knew. Sometimes he really does not want to be the guy in charge.

TBC...


	13. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"The techs have narrowed it down to two cars," Colby said as David came up behind him. "Neither have been reported stolen."

David frowned as he looked at the addresses of the owners.

"Can you bring up a map?"

"Yeah, sure."

Map up on-screen, David pointed to one of the addresses and then pointed to an address a few blocks away. "That's where the Ford was stolen from." The address of the other car that the techs had flagged was a lot further away.

"Coincidence?" Colby speculated.

"I don't think so," David said with a shake of his head. "Whoever took the Ford had to know that the owner was away; they had local knowledge. Would make sense that they steal another car nearby, probably also with an owner who's out of town. Or this is their own car. McGowan and I'll check this one out, you and Nikki check out the other one."

McGowan was talking to the AUSA. David stopped in the doorway to the conference room. "McGowan. We've got a lead on a suspect car. It's from the same neighbourhood as the Ford." He gestured with his head for McGowan to follow him.

They drove silently for a while, before David asked a question that he'd been wondering about.

"Did you talk to Wright about calling off OPR and your division?"

The lack of agents from those two divisions in their section that morning had surprised him. Nikki and Colby had even been able to conduct the interview with the computer store clerk on their own.

McGowan looked out his window. "It was a waste of manpower."

"So, what, you trust us now?"

At that, McGowan turned his head to face him. "You and your team have conducted a thorough investigation, evaluating all the evidence both as indicating your supervisor's guilt and exonerating him. There has been no indication that any of you had, or would be willing to, cut corners to try to free Eppes."

"You surprised by that?"

"Eppes arrested Agent Bloom, a corrupt FBI agent. He also shot and killed his own mentor. Does your boss cut corners? Yes, and it's against policy and one day it'll likely be the end of his career. But evidence tampering is something that he's never been accused of. You're his team, his influence shows. You may not have wanted to believe that he could have been capable of hurting people, but you did."

"Don has always said that he didn't want us to be like him, he wanted us to be better than him."

"Admirable," McGowan commented.

They reverted to silence for the rest of the drive, before pulling up in front of the address. David rested his hand on his gun as they walked up the driveway. There was a garage attached to the house, with a lock embedded in the handle. There was a rather dirty window on the side of the garage and David put his hands around his face against the glass, trying to block out any glare, to try to see in. There was no shape of a car inside.

"No car. Let's see whether there's anybody home," David said, leading the way to the front door. After several minutes of knocking and calling 'FBI' produced no response, they split up to check out the neighbours' houses. David found out that Denise Yen, the owner of the house and car, was a sales rep of some kind and was often away on business. This trip she'd been gone three weeks already. He was also offered a cup of coffee at one door while another was slammed in his face with a rather racist epithet.

"She's away for three weeks at the moment, and is often away on business. She always gets a taxi to the airport," David said when he met up with McGowan again beside their car.

"I got her cell number from the woman across the road, although there was no answer when I called it," McGowan shared. "The neighbour said that she thought she saw a man in his twenties or thirties hanging around the street two weeks ago. He was wearing a hooded top, so she couldn't give a better description."

"Think it's enough cause to check whether the garage door lock is broken?" David asked.

McGowan thought for a second, hmphing slightly. "Probably."

They walked back up to the garage. David twisted the handle and it turned, indicating that it was unlocked or broken. He gestured with his head for McGowan to take his place while he ducked down lower. McGowan opened the door slowly while David covered them, but all that was revealed was an empty garage.

"Broken lock, no car, not hard to do the math," McGowan said, much to David's amusement.

"Math, huh?" He didn't bother hiding it.

"It was a figure of speech."

"I'd say this is our guy and our car."

"I think you're right," McGowan agreed as David opened his cell up and put a call into Control to ask for LAPD to keep an eye out for the car.

They had progress. Somebody somehow had known that both Yen and Forsythe were away and therefore their cars were available to be stolen. Now they needed to find the link that connected the two cars.

* * *

"I've got a link," Nikki said triumphantly, hanging up the phone.

Both David and Colby wheeled their chairs closer to her desk.

"Yen and Forsythe used the same taxi company for their trips to the airport, and they use that company each time. The driver on both their last trips? Chuck Brown."

"His parents need to be shot," Colby said dryly as Nikki brought a driver's license up on-screen.

"Not the guy who bought the laptop or was seen near Yen's house," David observed. Brown was in his late 40s and looked like he could do with some exercise. He was also dramatically thinning on top.

Nikki looked at David. "Doesn't mean he's not involved. The taxi company said that Yen and Forsythe were both semi-regular fares for him, they probably wouldn't even blink if he asked them how long they were going to be out of town."

"Bring him in," David said. "Good work, Nikki."

* * *

Chuck Brown was nervous. He looked anxiously around the interrogation room, fiddling with the wedding band on his left hand, his balding head starting to shine with sweat. His knee jiggled up and down under the table.

"How long have you been a taxi driver, Mr Brown?" David asked.

"Uhhhh, twenty-two years."

"You like what you do?"

Brown studied the table. "It pays the bills."

"Did you pick up Denise Yen and Brett Forsythe and drop them at the airport?"

"Um, yeah," Brown said, moving the wedding band up and down his finger. "They're regular fares."

"Well, it's funny then, because the one thing that they have in common, other than you driving them to the airport, is the fact that both their garages were broken into and their cars stolen. Funny, huh?"

Brown's nervous movements abruptly stopped. "Nothing to do with me," he said quietly, eyes still lowered to the table. "I didn't steal any cars."

"No? That's odd, because both Miss Yen and Mr Forsythe said that they told _you_ how long they were going to be out of town, after you asked them. Why would you need that information, Mr Brown?"

The knee had started up again under the table. "I was just making conversation," Brown protested. "Sitting in a car all day, if I can't talk to some of the people I pick up, I'd go nuts."

"See, the thing is, we don't think that you stole the cars. We think you told someone else that Miss Yen and Mr Forsythe were going to be away. A white man in his late twenties. Sound familiar?" It did, based on the man's facial expression. "And it makes me wonder, why would you do that? If anything happens to those houses it can be traced back to you. Did he pay you for the information, Mr Brown?" David slammed his hand down on the table, watching Brown jump. He raised his voice. "If we search your house are we going to find the money that he paid you?"

"Okay!" Brown shouted. "Okay, yes, I told a man that they were going to be away. You have to understand, my wife and I, we haven't been on a holiday in fifteen years. I can't even buy her a piece of jewellery she likes." His voice was bitter. "So when this man told me that he'd pay me a grand to give him the addresses of people who were going to be away for more than a few days, I took it, okay?"

"Does the man have a name?"

Brown shook his head. "He said I could call him Michael. I met him in a bar, and I thought about backing out later that night, but then I went to put the trash out and he was standing outside my house! He knew where I lived!"

"Description?"

"White, late twenties, short brown hair." Brown shrugged. "Maybe a little taller than me. Brown eyes."

David turned over the photo-board with Don's photo on it.

"Is the man in any of these photos?" he asked.

Brown looked down, his eyes skimming over each, not pausing at any point. There was no sign of recognition. "No, I told you, he was in his late twenties."

"How did you contact him?"

"He gave me a cell number."

"How many addresses did you give him?" Nikki asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Five."

"We'll want the other three and the cell number," David said.

"Okay, fine, yes. I'm not going to be charged with something, am I?"

"You passed on information that led to a crime, for money. You figure it out," Nikki said unsympathetically.

"One last question," David said. "Do you still have any of the money he gave you?"

The man slumped in his chair, finally realising just how much trouble he was in. "I hadn't spent any of it yet."

* * *

Colby rushed into the meeting room. "There's a match on the fingerprints off the bills that Brown was given."

"That was quick," David commented. Fingerprints on the money that the man had given Brown had turned out to be the only way to track him down. The cell number was a dead end.

"They were in our database," Colby said as he brought a driver's license up on the large screen. The man's date of birth indicated that he'd be in his late twenties and the description matched the license photo.

"Michael Claymore. He looks familiar," David mused.

"He should. He was the main suspect in a series of rapes about three years ago that we investigated."

"Right," David breathed out, the man's face clicking with his memory. Don had gone at him hard, trying to get him to confess, but they'd never had enough evidence to be able to charge him. It was a case that they'd all taken a little personally.

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Nikki said.

"He went after couples," Colby started. "He'd ambush them in their home, threaten them with a gun and force the man to rape the woman. He always wore a ski mask, so we never had a positive ID and he never left any DNA or fingerprints behind, except for one partial we'd matched him to."

What Don had done now made some level of sense. But, considering Claymore's MO, Don and Robin had actually been lucky, even if they wouldn't think so. Although how hard Don could have been pushed before he'd broken and refused to go any further, David didn't know. If Claymore had decided to go with his usual MO, both Don and Robin could have ended up dead if Don had refused.

"That sounds familiar," AUSA Sanchez said. "Eppes isn't going to be charged. There's more than enough evidence now indicating the involvement of this Claymore."

"The question is why Claymore's gone after Don and why now," David said. "Colby and Nikki, check out his last known address. Sanchez, can you arrange a warrant?"

"Sure." Sanchez pulled out his cell and moved towards one side of the room.

"Take SWAT with you," David said to Colby, "I don't want to take the risk that he's going to get away or hurt anyone else. And put the bomb squad on alert, you might need them." He looked at his watch. "I've got to meet Bradford at the hospital, interview Don. You want to come?" he asked Sanchez.

Sanchez nodded as he continued talking on his cell.

* * *

The pre-entry adrenaline had well and truly kicked in. Colby hoped that Claymore was going to be in his apartment, but doubted that he would be. Even though there hadn't been much evidence initially connecting him, there was a definite link and Claymore had proved that he was anything but stupid, both in the rapes that they'd questioned him about three years previously and his framing of Don. Colby was almost completely certain that they'd find that Claymore had cleared out. If he had, they would have next to no chance of tracking him down easily. But if Claymore found out that Don was alive and not going to be charged, there was a chance he'd go after after Don again. Using Don as bait could turn out to be the best way to get Claymore to reveal himself in the end, even though it would be risky.

"Three, two, one, execute."

SWAT led the entry with Colby and Nikki following behind. They fanned out as they stormed the apartment, the yells of FBI echoing in the space. As Colby had expected, there was no sign of Claymore. There was also nothing that really indicated that anyone was still living in the apartment. All the furniture was still in place, but there was none of the clutter that always accumulated over time. Colby pulled open the closets in the bedroom. There were no clothes or shoes.

Claymore was in the wind.

TBC...


	14. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14

Chapter 14

It hurt. It hurt too much. Everything that Don had, everything he valued, was destroyed. His relationship with Robin, the trust that his team had for him...his trust in himself. He was a monster—even David knew it—and Robin would never want to see him again. The looks from the FBI agent guarding him from inside his room indicated that he agreed.

Liz should have been a better shot.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw Robin's terrified face...him hitting her, touching her, the taste of salt when he licked her neck...felt his hand on Liz's ass, her shaking against him in fear. It never ever ended, constantly on repeat with surround sound. Sometimes his eyes didn't even need to be closed.

He wanted it to end.

Don pulled the IV out of his arm. It hurt, but what was a little more hurt in the scheme of things? It would soon be over.

"Hey!"

He'd caught his guard's attention. The man had started a step forward towards him, before stopping, indecision written all over his face. Call for a nurse or try to stop Don from hurting himself. Don didn't give him a chance to think further, pulling the hospital gown off his left shoulder—ignoring the pain, always ignoring the pain—and attacking the bandages that covered his shoulder and upper chest.

"Hey, don't do that! You're going to hurt yourself!"

The guard was right there beside him, pressing the call buzzer (stop him and get the nurse in one—genius) and trying to grab his arms. Don kept himself moving— _the pain will end soon, the pain will end soon_ —waiting for the opening he needed, knowing that the guard wasn't putting as much force behind it as he could. There it was...and Don had the guard's gun. The agent realised too late and backed off, hands held up, when Don pointed it at him. Don reversed his aim when the agent was a safe distance away, resting the muzzle of the gun underneath his chin.

"Malcolm!" the agent called, never taking his eyes off Don, and the door opened, another agent appearing—the guard that was waiting outside his room (that was how much of a monster he was, one guard wasn't enough)—drawing his weapon when he saw what was happening.

"Agent Eppes, please put the gun down." It was the first agent, the not-Malcolm, voice calm, making supposedly soothing gestures with his hands. "You don't want to do this...it's going to be okay...please, you don't want to hurt yourself. Let's talk about this, okay? Can we do that, can we talk about this?"

 _No._

Don blanked the rest of his words out, focussing on the feel of the gun in his hands, the feel of it pressing into his chin. One tease of the trigger, that was all it would take. One pull, and no more pain, no more guilt, no more monster.

He closed—

"Don."

David's voice jarred him into the present. He could still feel the gun in his hands, even though it had been an illusion, all a fantasy. There was no gun in his hands, not yet. Don's eyes automatically travelled to the gun on David's left hip. One little pull...

David wasn't the only one in the room. The agent, not-Malcolm, had disappeared and Dr Bradford and a Latin American man that Don didn't recognise had taken his place. Bradford was leaning against a wall, his gaze intent, stripping away the layers and analysing Don's mind. Don looked away, back at David. David was safe, he couldn't read Don, not like Bradford could.

"Don, this is AUSA Sanchez." David gestured at the Latin American man. "We need you to tell us what happened."

"I stripped, tied up and assaulted Robin. I abducted Liz, threatened her with a gun and assaulted her." All truth, all the monster. He belonged in prison. Cops never did very well in prison...a shiv would end the pain.

"We have reason to believe that someone forced you to do those things, threatened your life or Robin's. Don, we have a suspect, but we need to know from you whether someone made threats to force you to hurt Robin and abduct Liz."

A suspect. The man had said that there would be no proof, how could they have a suspect? It was all a trick. It had to be. He was the only suspect. He was the monster.

"I can't imagine how you're feeling or how hard it was, but you're not just hurting yourself by this, you're hurting Robin and Liz, your brother and your father and your team. We need to know the truth."

The truth would change nothing. Robin would never be able to stand him touching her ever again, even if she would be willing to give him a chance ( _she won't_ ).

"If you don't help us, he _will_ go and do this to someone else. You know that he will. Don, you can't let him do that. You don't want anybody else to be hurt like Robin and Liz have been, do you?"

That was all Bradford, those words. Appeal to Don's overdeveloped sense of protectiveness and justice. Don't include Don in who had been hurt. David had talked to Bradford. And it was working. Don didn't want it to work, he didn't want to have to talk, to give away his guilt, place it on someone else. _He_ was the monster. It all hurt too much, it would hurt more if he wasn't the monster, if he was a victim like Robin and Liz. If his life was ruined because he was a victim, not the monster. The monster deserved to die, deserved to be caught...and David was telling him that he wasn't the monster. He balled his fist up in front of his mouth, pressed it hard, holding the words in, trying to hold on to what he thought he was.

"Did someone threaten you to force you to cooperate with them?" David's voice was gentle.

The hand came away and he gave in, did what he was told to do. It had been all he'd been doing since he'd woken up on Robin's sofa, he was good at it. "Yes."

"Who did they threaten?"

"Robin. There—there were bombs."

"Do you know who the person threatening you was?"

Don shook his head. "No. A man, American." He turned his head away. They'd been given what they needed, he couldn't let go of anything else. Not yet. He couldn't talk about it any more.

"Don."

There was silence for a few seconds.

"Agent Eppes, you will not be charged with anything in relation to the assaults and abductions of Agent Warner and AUSA Brooks. I am very sorry for what you have had to go through."

"Don, you're no longer being held pending charges, but I'm going to leave the agents guarding your room for your protection. We don't know whether he'll go after you again."

There was quiet and then the sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing. Don closed his eyes. Robin was right there waiting for him.

He may not be a monster but the pain hadn't gone.

* * *

Don had finally given them what they needed...but David felt like he'd just destroyed him. And from the expression on Bradford's face, he didn't think he was far off with how he felt.

"You need to tell the agents that are guarding Don to be careful with their guns, if they have to go near him."

"He's suicidal." David's stomach sunk at his conclusion. They'd already been stationing a guard inside Don's room because Bradford suspected that it was likely, but the confirmation sucked.

Bradford nodded. "When we came into the room, after you said his name, his gaze went straight to your holster. He's in a world of pain right now, and if he gets desperate enough..."

"How can we help him?"

"You're doing it right now. You got him to admit what happened and actually talk, that's a big step. He was taking all the blame and guilt on himself, and now he can't. It's going to take time, and to be honest, I think the scars from this are always going to be there. I'll talk to him tomorrow, give him some time to get used to what he'd told us. But the other things that are going to have a big impact are if Robin and Liz can forgive him."

"We'll go and speak with Robin and Liz now, let them know what's been going on. Robin's probably going to need protection, too, while Claymore's still out there." David drew in a deep breath in a sigh. "And then I'll go and see Alan and Charlie. They'll be relieved."

"He'll need their support," Bradford said. "But I'd suggest that today only his father should visit him. Don needs some time to process."

David nodded. They really wouldn't like it, but he'd make sure that they obeyed. Don's mental health was more important than their need to see him.

* * *

Robin opened the door to her friend's apartment. David had called ahead and told her that he and the AUSA handling the case were coming. He'd even asked whether she wanted Nikki there as well, or whether she'd be okay with just them. Even though she'd told them that she'd be fine with just them, when they were actually standing on the door step she'd broken out in a cold sweat and started shaking.

David had obviously seen her reaction, because he offered again, "I can call Nikki. We can wait in the car until she gets here."

As much as it was tempting, she couldn't be afraid to be alone with men for the rest of her life. "No, it's okay." She pulled the door open. "Come in."

She led them in to the living area. "Do you want anything to drink?" she asked out of politeness.

"No, we're fine," David answered.

"Okay." Robin stood for a second, unsure what she should do. She finally decided to take a seat, leaving her feet firmly on the floor to allow herself some security that if she was to be attacked she could get away.

"How are you coping?" David asked gently.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," Robin said, taking the question in the spirit it was intended. "My parents want me to go back home to stay with them for a few weeks, I'm still deciding on whether I will or not. Otherwise they'll come out here for a few days."

He nodded. "The reason we're here...there's been some developments in the case."

"Developments?" The word and his expression made her nervous. Had Don died? She'd been told that he'd made it through surgery. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands.

"Robin, somebody forced Don to hurt you and Liz."

Out of all the things that she'd expected to come out of David's mouth, that hadn't even been in the top hundred.

"Wha—that—" she stammered.

Somebody forced Don to hurt her? No, that wasn't right. It couldn't be right. David was—

"You're covering for him. I guess I should have known that you would." She was angry, so very angry. How could they do this to her? "He _hurt_ me."

"Nobody's covering for him. It's the truth." David's tone was serious, each word pronounced with emphasis. "Remember Agent McGowan? He's overseen the entire investigation. Each step of the way we had OPR and the Security Division watching us. Nobody has covered up anything. Don was forced."

There were tears in her eyes. She shook her head. _No._ It couldn't be. She hated him. He'd hurt her so much, not just physically. Overnight the hate had squashed the small amount of love she'd still had. Oh, she did still find herself thinking about something Don had said or something they'd done before this had all happened and being happy, but after a second, when reality sunk in, that feeling reversed.

"You weren't the only one drugged. We think Don drank some of the wine. We have a suspect, a man, and we think he came into your house while you were both unconscious and planted a microphone and an earwig on Don as well as the two bombs. When Don woke up, he threatened you to force him to hurt you and Liz."

Robin covered her face with her hands, wanting to still live in denial. She felt a sob build up in the back of her throat and she wanted to hold it in, not break down in front of this stranger and David. It didn't work. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed uncontrollably into her hands and she pulled her legs up, curling herself into a ball. Everything she'd believed was wrong. She hated Don...and he had tried to protect her. Her mind flashed back, and she saw that one moment when it looked like he didn't want to hurt her, that it was hurting him. That one moment had been the truth. He'd wanted to help her when she'd started choking, that's why his hands had hovered over her head. The sobs eventually subsided and she looked up, grateful when David offered her a box of tissues he must have found while she'd been crying.

She shook her head again, sadly this time. "I-I've spent most of the last two days _hating_ him. How can we come back from that?" she whispered.

"I don't know," David admitted.

"Is he going to be charged?" she asked the AUSA.

"No. The evidence is strong that he was under duress."

"Is he okay?"

David hesitated. "Don's—they think he'll physically recover. Mentally, he's, uh, he's not so good."

This revelation had made her mind up. She needed to get away, try to clear her head. Try to sort out how she felt and get used to the idea that Don hadn't wanted to hurt her.

"I think I'm going to go to my parents. I need some time."

David nodded. "I think that's a good idea. If you were going to stay here, we'd have to insist on protection. We don't know whether the suspect will go after you or Don again."

Her stomach sunk. "You haven't arrested him?"

"We haven't found him yet."

"But you're sure—"

"We're sure; he was behind this, Robin. Don didn't want to hurt you."

How could this mess ever be fixed? She'd been willing, no, _wanted_ to marry Don 48 hours ago, and now, she was terrified of the thought of even being in the same room as him. How could things ever go back to the way they were?

TBC...


	15. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Liz seemed calm, and that was a relief after Robin. She wasn't nervous being around the two men as she led them into her apartment.

"How's Robin doing?"

"About like you'd expect," David said. Liz's apartment was neat and homey. He spotted the cage for her hamster, although there was no obvious sign of the animal. It was hiding.

"And Don?" The words were casual, but he could tell that her interest was anything but. He wouldn't be surprised if Liz's feelings oscillated between wishing that he was dead and glad that he was alive so that he could be brought to trial.

"It looks like he'll recover. Liz, Don's why we are here. He was under duress, somebody was threatening Robin." He went straight to the point, knowing that Liz had been able to think about the entire situation more analytically than Robin could.

She took a deep breath of surprise, looking at him intently. "You can prove it?"

David nodded. "We've got a suspect. Don won't be charged."

She looked at Sanchez for confirmation and he nodded.

"Good. I really didn't want to be that wrong about him."

The remark was almost flippant, but Liz would have been more prepared than Robin to accept that Don had been under duress. She'd looked for the signs. Despite that, David knew it was still going to hit her hard. Liz leaned onto the back of the sofa behind her.

"I shot him. He was under duress and I shot him." She looked down at the floor.

"You did what you had to do to stay alive. Don't ever question that. You hear me?" He raised his eyebrows and waited until she caught his gaze and nodded. "You didn't do anything wrong; you did your job, which was to stay alive. Don would tell you exactly the same thing."

"It's not going to be as easy as that."

"No, it's not," David agreed. "It's going to take time, for everyone. But you cannot start doubting yourself, not when it's your life on the line. That could end your career, or get you killed."

She nodded in agreement. "What now?"

"We're trying to catch the man responsible...and you need to deal with what happened."

"I'm going to have to see Don." Liz's face expressed that she had reservations about the idea, but she was right. The only way they'd all be able to deal was if they faced what had happened, and that included the person who'd hurt them.

"Yeah...but when you're ready. And Don's ready. I'll talk with Dr Bradford, see what he says and let you know."

The revelation that Don was likely not doing well, mentally and emotionally, was reflected on Liz's face. She sighed. "Crap."

* * *

The toll that their son's activities had taken on the Claymore's lives was obvious to the two FBI agents. Both were exceedingly nervous in Nikki and Colby's presence and weren't comfortable with Colby even looking around the living room. There were lots of photos, of the couple, of a young woman who Colby thought was their daughter, but nowhere was there a photo of Michael. It looked like he'd been erased from their lives. Colby picked up one of the photos with the young woman in it.

"Who's this?" he asked Kate Claymore, who hovered behind him.

"Our daughter. She's away at college. Doing well, too. A good student." There was love and longing in the woman's eyes as she looked at the photo.

Colby put it back carefully on the shelf.

"I assume you're here about Michael. That's all anyone ever wants to talk to us about. Michael." Daniel Claymore's voice was bitter.

"Dan," Kate chided softly.

"It's okay, Mrs Claymore," Nikki said. "Yes, we're here about Michael. When was the last time you saw him?"

"The day that the FBI released him without charge. I told him he wasn't setting foot in this house again."

Colby didn't doubt that Dan meant his words. He looked at Kate—could she have as easily cut all ties with her son as her husband had?

"Mrs Claymore?" Colby prodded.

"The same." She shook her head. "He's my son, but—but what he did... The FBI may not have been able to prove it, but I know that you were right. How could I see him, look him in the eye and hug him, knowing what he'd done? What he might still do."

The pain in her voice was all too obvious. As much as it had torn her up to cut her son out of her life, it hurt her more knowing what he'd done, even if the law had never been able to prove it. Colby didn't think it likely that she had stayed in contact with Michael.

"It was part of why our daughter went out of state, to college," Kate continued. "She could have gone to CalSci, but she wanted to get away from the black cloud that surrounds our family, that Michael brought down on us."

"Michael had a girlfriend, didn't he?" Colby asked. "Did he stay with her?"

"God, no," Dan said with a humourless laugh. "She ran away from him as fast as she could, after."

"She's engaged now," Kate said, a slight smile on her face even though her voice was wistful, remembering all that she had lost.

"You keep in touch with her?" Nikki asked. It would have been odd if they had, if she'd been willing to keep in touch with his parents after finding out about his true nature.

"No. It was in the newspaper, a month or so back," Kate explained. "I was just so happy that Jennifer has found somebody. She was a nice girl. She deserves to be happy."

A month or so back. Nikki looked at Colby and he could see the same thought going through her mind. Could that be the trigger as to why Don had been targeted now? Michael had seen the engagement notice and saw red, decided to take it out on the man he blamed for denying him that life?

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, although whether they'd lead to Michael's location was anybody's guess.

* * *

"So that's it," Alan said, with a quick shake of his head. "Just like that and Donnie's not going to be charged."

"Ah, yeah," David replied, hands clasped in front of him.

Alan blinked a few more times. It all felt like nothing had changed, and yet everything had. One minute Don was accused of assault and abduction and was a prisoner, the next they knew he was forced to hurt Robin and Liz and he wasn't going to be charged. And Alan had no doubt that it was because of the hard work of Don's team. "Thank you, David."

"Alan—" David tried to interrupt, his left hand held up, uncomfortable with what Alan had said.

"No, please, let me finish. You investigated, you didn't just presume that he was guilty, based on what he did—what he was forced to do," Alan corrected himself, "and not bother seeing whether there was any other explanation. You did your job and I know it couldn't have been easy. And whatever doubts you had, about whether Don was innocent..."

David shifted in his seat at that. How could Alan hold David accountable for those when Alan had had doubts himself?

"Don't beat yourself up about them. Considering, well, pretty much everything, I don't think anybody would blame you for having them, least of all Don."

David scratched the side of his head, a bemused and puzzled smile on his face. "How can—you're so _calm_. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to scream at me, right now, and instead you're trying to reassure and thank me."

At that Alan let out a slight chuckle. "Good thing that Charlie's asleep, then." The conversation would not have been anywhere near as civilised and shouting-free if Charlie'd been awake, Alan was sure. Instead he'd finally crashed so completely that nothing would be likely to wake him. He'd been working non-stop at his blackboards, feverish in his intensity, until he'd just dropped. "Believe me, part of me wants to," Alan continued more seriously. "But you did what needed to be done to clear Don—and-and that's all that matters to me right now. Well, that, and getting the bastard who's responsible for doing this to my son."

Alan also needed to hold it together, for Charlie, but especially for Don. What he'd been forced to do, the toll it would have taken on him—Alan couldn't even imagine.

"Wait, if Don's no longer being held, that means we can go and see him?"

"Yes," David confirmed, causing Alan to stand up. He needed to see his son.

"But, Alan," David put a restraining hand on Alan's arm, forcing him to stay put, "he's still under guard, to protect him from the suspect. All the agents guarding him know what the suspect looks like so he should be safe. And—" He broke off, avoiding Alan's gaze, the muscles around his mouth tightening. What more could he say that could be worse?

"Just say it," Alan demanded, a little harshly.

"Dr Bradford thinks that Don might be, uh, suicidal."

"No, that's not—that can't be Donnie. He's never—I would know if he ever..." The denial was as automatic as breathing. Then his brain caught up. _All the horrible things that Donnie has been forced to do...and Robin._ It suddenly made sense. His throat closed over a little, the lump that had been sitting in it for the previous two days choking him with its tears.

"Bradford thinks that only you should see Don today. Don's really not in a good head space right now and he needs time to think. And if he asks about Robin, she's gone to her parents for a few weeks."

Alan nodded, still reeling at the revelation. "Good thing that Charlie's asleep, then," he said, his voice rough.

* * *

Alan rested his hand against the side of Don's face, resolutely ignoring the FBI agent at the door. Don was sleeping, but he looked exhausted.

"My boy," Alan said tenderly. Don's eyes slowly opened and the depth of the pain and loss in them almost took Alan's breath away. How could this ever heal? "It's going to be okay."

Don shook his head, his eyes closing wearily again as he whispered, "No, it's not."

"Well, then, I'll just have to believe enough for the both of us," Alan replied lightly, wanting so much to be able to take away the despair in Don's voice and his face. "I love you, my boy, and nothing is ever going to change that."

Alan reluctantly removed his hand from Don's face and pulled the chair closer to the bed before sitting in it. He picked up Don's right hand, gripping it reassuringly. "You just sleep, I'm not going to let anything else bad happen to you."

He was going to keep that promise, no matter what it took.

* * *

Jennifer McDonald, Michael Claymore's ex-girlfriend, wasn't what would be described as classically beautiful, particularly in image-obsessed LA. But while she wasn't beautiful, there was something about her, and the way she engaged with the people around her, that attracted the eye and interest, even in the FBI office.

"Miss McDonald, I'm glad you could come in," Colby said as he shook her hand. "I'm sorry to bring this all up again."

"It's okay," she said with a quick smile. "I know that the only way I'd ever escape it is to move cities, and even then, it wouldn't necessarily work. But I'm not letting him force me out of LA. My life and home are here. I'm not letting a psycho ex-boyfriend take that away from me." There was a quiet but steely resolve in the words; Jennifer wasn't somebody who would just let herself be stepped all over.

After pulling the door to the small meeting room shut behind him, Colby gestured for her to take a seat before sitting himself.

"When was the last time you saw Michael Claymore?"

"About a month after you released him." Her brow furrowed. "He kept on calling me and coming to my apartment, even though I'd broken up with him. I threatened to get a restraining order and he finally left me alone. To be honest, I was a little shocked that he did."

"I can understand that," Colby replied. He was surprised that the threat had worked as well, in most situations it didn't. "Congratulations on your engagement." When a slightly startled look was directed at him, he gestured with his head towards the engagement ring she was fiddling with.

"Oh," she said with a bit of a laugh, holding her hand out flat. "I work in a lab, I have to wear it on a necklace most of the time. I'm still getting used to people actually noticing it."

"The notice of your engagement was in the paper?"

"Yeah, a bit over a month ago."

"Have you received any strange calls since? Anybody lurking around, anything odd?" If the engagement had been what had triggered Claymore he might have also been stalking his ex-girlfriend.

"Now that you mention it," she said, a slightly freaked out look on her face, "I've been getting some nuisance calls, just breathing and then they hang up. It started about a week after the engagement notice was in the paper...Oh, god, do you think that's him?" She'd gone from only being slightly freaked out to quite panicked.

"I think there's a good chance," Colby said. "I want to arrange for some protection for you, until we find him."

"And charge him with what? You didn't have enough to charge him back then, what's some nuisance phone calls going to help?"

"He's a suspect in several assaults and believe me, we have enough evidence this time. He'll be going to prison," Colby reassured her.

"Okay," she said, still looking scared. "I think I'll take that protection now."

TBC...


	16. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It was twilight when Charlie woke. He still felt exhausted, but an urgent need to relieve his bladder—and find out whether anything had changed while he'd been asleep—kept him awake. His brain felt the most focussed it ever had when someone he loved's life was on the line. The anxiety and stress of the previous day and night, and the urgency to do the calculations and get the math out of his head, were gone. Now he just needed to help Don. After attending to the full bladder, he made his way downstairs, yawning profusely. His dad appeared to be reading the _New Scientist_ from the previous morning, although from the way he was staring into space, glasses held forgotten in his hand, Charlie didn't think that he'd fared any better with actually managing to read any of it.

"Dad," Charlie said quietly, trying not to startle him. It didn't work, Alan's head snapped in Charlie's direction.

"Charlie, I didn't see you there," Alan said, glancing quickly down at his glasses like he wasn't sure why they were in his lap. He shut the magazine, leaving his hands and the glasses resting on the top of it. "I didn't know you were awake."

"Only for a few minutes. Did anything happen while I was asleep?"

"Ahh, yes, actually. Your brother is not going to be charged."

Charlie could feel a relieved and vindicated smile forming as he sat down across from Alan, eager to hear how it had happened. "They found out that he was threatened to force him to do it, didn't they?"

"Yes, although the man is still out there. David said that they know who he is. I hope they find him soon, so we can stop worrying that he could go after Donnie again."

"David," Charlie said, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I acted like an ass. David was just doing his job." The concept that anybody who knew Don could even contemplate that he would hurt Robin and Liz of his own accord had been something that Charlie couldn't accept. He still couldn't accept it, but he was more willing to understand that David and the rest of the team had a job to do and had to go off the evidence, which had not initially been in Don's favour.

"I think he understands," Alan said wryly. "And you saved me from having to act like one." He paused, looking down at his lap and twiddling his glasses, before lifting his head again, his eyes sad. "Charlie...I went to see Don at the hospital."

A flash of indignation washed through Charlie. Alan shouldn't have gone without him; Don was his brother, Charlie should have gone too. A restraining hand was held up when Charlie went to open his mouth and the ingrained reaction from childhood of holding his tongue kicked in.

"I know what you were going to say, but you were dead to the world." Alan sighed. "And Doctor Bradford felt it was best if only one of us went today."

Bradford's involvement bore out Charlie's math and analysis. The analysis that he'd checked, checked again and triple checked, not wanting to believe its results. "Doctor Bradford," he said sadly.

"Things aren't just going to go back to normal, now that the charges have been dropped."

"I know, Dad," Charlie interrupted, seeing that this was going to head in the direction of a 'wake up Charlie to the real world' lecture, which he really didn't need. "I wasn't working on P vs NP or a trust metric on Don—I knew he wasn't guilty—I was working on what happens _now_." He looked away, unable to say it while he was looking at his father. "And the math..." He drew in a deep breath, telling himself to be strong. It was just words and this was important for Don. He looked back steadily at his father. "The math says that Don will likely be very depressed, possibly even...suicidal. Even with our support." He couldn't stop his fear bleeding into the words. "Family was what always balanced out the realities of Don's job, but Robin's his family now, too. And without her, with what happened with her...how's he going to deal with this?"

"I don't know. I really don't know," Alan said, his pain obvious. "But we'll just have to help him get through it, best as we can."

Charlie nodded, before asking hesitantly, "How was Don?"

Tears sprang into Alan's eyes as he shook his head, unable to speak. Charlie bowed his head, getting his own reaction under control. He'd promised himself that he'd be there for Don, that he wouldn't get lost inside his own head and fear, and he was going to keep that promise. Don was always strong for him, this time he'd be strong for Don. Although, he wasn't guaranteeing that there wouldn't be repercussions after Don was 'better'. Charlie couldn't easily control how his brain reacted to stress, as evidenced by his obsession that had resulted in the arrest of Robert Posdner. He just didn't want anything, even his own brain, to stop him from helping Don now.

"We'll get through this," Charlie said with quiet conviction. "We'll get him through this, Dad."

Alan gave him a fond smile, his eyes still glistening slightly. There was pride and slight wonder in the look; Charlie assumed at the fact that he was sitting there, somewhat rational, rather than out in the garage frantically working on his boards. It was still a temptation; part of his mind did want to be out there, burying himself in math and avoiding the reality. But, at the moment, he could control it. And if he could control it, he was going to.

There was a sound of a key in the lock and the front door opened. _Don._ The thought was absurd, but Charlie still felt a little disappointed when it wasn't Don that walked through the door, it was Amita. And then he felt guilty for feeling that, considering that Amita was his fiancée and how much he loved her. She shut the door and quickly walked over to them, leaning down to kiss Charlie.

"I didn't think you'd be awake," she said quietly, studying his face before standing back up. "It's on the news," she said to both of them, "that Don's not going to be charged. There was a lot of media at CalSci, looking for you, I guess, Charlie. Nobody seemed to connect me to you so they left me alone. Oh," she turned to Charlie, "I'm not going to be able to cover all your classes tomorrow. Sorry."

"That's okay," Charlie replied, taking her hand. She perched on the arm of the chair. "I'll do them."

She frowned slightly. "You sure you're ready to go back to work?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay, then." There was still a hint of doubt in her eyes, but she looked at Alan. "How's Don?"

"The doctors say that physically he should be fine."

"Ah," Amita said quietly, apparently understanding what Alan wasn't saying.

"When are visiting hours?" Charlie asked.

"Midday till one, and then six till seven in the evening. I can take tomorrow off, and then I'll go and see him on my lunch break on the days after that, until he gets out of the hospital. The doctors think he should be able to go home in five or so days, barring any complications."

When Don got out of the hospital it would be trickier, as Charlie didn't think that either he or his father would want Don left alone at home, particularly if his mood hadn't improved. Alan hadn't been working when Don had been stabbed, so there'd been somebody with him at the house when he'd gotten out of the hospital. Charlie wasn't naive enough to think that things were going to drastically change with Don's psychological state over a short period of time. But they were going to get him through it...Charlie wasn't going to lose his brother to this.

* * *

The crush of people in the airport was making Robin edgy. Personal space seemed to not really be an option, and even though she was no longer in LA she couldn't help but worry that the nameless, faceless person who'd set up Don to hurt her could be nearby. She finally spotted her parents and started hurrying towards them, feeling an almost overwhelming urge to burst into tears and hide in her mother's arms. Her father saw her and he nudged her mother, gesturing in her direction. They picked up their pace and she finally was in reach of them, letting go of her grip on her luggage and letting her mom pull her into an embrace. Robin squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry all over her parents in such a public place, but she couldn't stop the flood of tears.

"It'll be okay," her mom whispered in her ear, holding her tightly. "It'll be okay."

* * *

The kiss was like heaven and a promise of things to come.

"What are you waiting for?" Robin practically purred, pulling him by his shirt towards her bed. He followed her willingly, helping her to slide out of her work dress that still somehow managed to look damn sexy.

"Not yet," she said with a smile when he tried to unhook her black bra, batting his hands away. She pulled on the front of his shirt again, bringing him down with her when she lay back on the bed until he was crouched over her, knees on either side of her hips. They kissed again and he let his hands roam all over her skin, ready for more.

He continued the kiss as he pulled the gun out of his holster, but then pulled back, aiming the gun at her head.

"Don," she said with a gasp, hands coming up in front of her in fear. "What are—"

He didn't let her finish the sentence. Red bloomed around her head as her arms thudded back to the bed. Her blue eyes were open, staring at him accusingly. Staring at the monster who had killed her.

Don woke with a start, not sure where he was and the image of Robin lying dead on the bed still fresh in his mind. _I killed Robin. Oh, god, what did I do?_ Then reality hit: the agent sitting near the door, looking at him with concern, the pain in his shoulder and chest from having moved so suddenly and the hospital bed he was lying in. Killing her had just been a dream. He rested back against his pillow, trying to slow his breathing and heart rate.

"Are you okay, Agent Eppes?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Don said quietly, before looking towards the window. With the need for a guard, he was still in a private room, although it didn't feel very private. Two guards, one in the room and one without. Either they really were exceedingly worried about the capabilities of their suspect or Don was on suicide watch. From Bradford's involvement, Don suspected the second. They were worried about threats from both outside and within the room.

Don levered himself up with his right arm and brought his legs around until his feet were on the floor. He slid them into the slippers, grateful that he was now in tracksuit pants and his ass wouldn't be on display for all the world to see. He turned to walk around the bed, seeing the agent's interest in his movements.

"Bathroom," Don said shortly. It was the only place he could manage to get a little bit of privacy and space to himself. When the agent still looked at him a tad uneasily, he felt like saying, "What, you think I'm going to drown myself in the toilet?" but he resisted.

Bathroom door slid shut behind him, he walked over to the toilet, leaving the lid down. He sat on it, wincing slightly when the wounds in his shoulder and upper chest protested.

His dad had said that Charlie and he would both visit tomorrow. _Today_ , he amended when he glanced down at his watch. It was almost two twenty am. He'd been able to ignore Alan by trying to sleep most of his short visit, but he knew that wouldn't work for long the next times that people visited him.

They'd want him to talk, both about what had happened and how he felt about it all. Don didn't want to do either. The guilt about what he'd done was with him every second of the day that he was awake. It didn't matter that he'd had no choice, that he'd been forced. He'd still done it. Dying would have been a relief, the one choice that he'd agreed with and welcomed...and it had been taken away from him. Everything had been taken away from him.

Don hung his head and closed his eyes, but Robin was waiting there for him, still lying on the bed, dead at his own hand. Even if she could forgive him, he knew that this was too much to be able to get past. He'd lost the woman he wanted to marry the day after he'd scouted out engagement rings with her. Not that she knew that that was what they were doing, she'd ended up with a small tear-drop shaped topaz on a white gold necklace, but he'd watched where her eyes settled on the displays of rings. When he next asked, he was going to do it right. Now it would never happen.

"Agent Eppes?"

His guard was worried. _Leave me alone..._ There was a knock on the door to the bathroom. Don stood up, wincing again, and moved over to the door, opening it abruptly. The agent was startled to see Don standing right in front of him and Don's eyes were drawn to the man's gun, in reach. _Just one pull..._ Seeing where Don was looking, the agent quickly rotated his stance so that the gun was further away and backed off. When Don finally looked at the agent's face, he didn't like the pity he saw there. He didn't want to be pitied.

Don moved away and climbed back into bed, turning his face away from the pity that he knew was still being sent in his direction. He was tired, he needed to sleep.

 _Everything will seem better in the morning,_ a mocking part of his mind said gleefully.

 _No, it won't,_ he told it as he closed his eyes.

Robin was waiting for him.

TBC...


	17. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Two days and Don had taken taciturn to a new level, almost making it an art form. He didn't want to talk to his dad or Charlie, Bradford or David. It meant he was talked at a lot, particularly by his dad and Charlie. Bradford just had an annoying habit of sitting and staring at him for half an hour, not saying a damn thing. Don saw the worry in their eyes, in the attempts at physical contact that his dad made and Don largely avoided. The fact that he was worrying them should have made him feel bad, but it didn't. He couldn't feel any worse than he already did. The guilt hadn't gone away, nor had the nightmares or Robin haunting him. His doctor had mentioned the possibility of antidepressants, if his mood didn't improve, but he'd vetoed the idea.

"Don."

At Liz's voice, Don was up standing, out of his chair beside the window, and facing back towards the door.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Liz didn't look very comfortable being in the same room as him, her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive posture. Her eyes looked tired and her hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail. She wasn't his only visitor, Bradford was leaning against a wall near the door. Probably to monitor how they reacted to each other, like they were a scientific experiment.

"Liz," Don said, feeling that he should say something but having no idea what. He'd been caught completely off guard. Then he figured out what he needed to say, the most obvious thing in the world, even if it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

He shook his head; it couldn't be that easy, it really couldn't. What he'd done couldn't just be forgiven like that.

There was sympathy in Liz's eyes. "Don, you didn't want to hurt me, you just did what you had to do to keep Robin alive. I understand that and I forgive you."

 _No._ He shook his head again. "You should have let me die."

There was a long moment of silence after his whispered words as Liz's face went from horror to anger. "You'd really lay that on me?" she said angrily. "You know, we were all trying to figure out whether we really knew you, but I never thought that you were a selfish son of a bitch. Guess I was wrong. You need to get your head out of your ass and realise that there are people who care about you, who need you, here."

He barely registered her abrupt exit from the room, or Bradford following after her, his guard returning to his post by the door.

 _Selfish?_ She could accuse him of being _selfish_? After all he'd done to try to keep Robin alive...after what he'd sacrificed? He'd lost everything, and he was selfish? There was an empty cup on his bedside table, he grabbed it and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The resulting pain to his side was expected. But there was no satisfying smash of glass, just a dull thud as the cup hit the wall and then fell to the ground.

"You done?" Bradford asked.

Don rounded on him, still angry. "I'm _selfish_? After everything I went through, trying to keep Robin alive, _I'm selfish_? What the hell do I have left? Huh? What do I have left—who have I got left but me? I've lost my team's trust and Robin..." It hurt too much to say. Don stared at Bradford, breathing hard, trying to keep the tears of hurt and anger inside.

"What about Robin?"

Of course Bradford had to push it. Don bit the inside of his lip, air puffing in and out of his nose audibly. He suddenly realised: this had all been a stunt by Bradford, to push him into reacting and talking. Unlike the cup, it would be satisfying to smash his fist into Bradford's face, he decided. His hand was already balled into a fist and Bradford's eyes narrowed.

"You want to take a swing at me? Go ahead, if you think it will make you feel better."

Bradford's tone and face were so damn calm. If he hit Bradford, the guard would be on him in a second. He'd most likely end up restrained to the bed, and he didn't want that. And Don knew that it wouldn't make him feel better. It would just mean more guilt. He let his hand relax and turned his back on Bradford, going to stand by the window.

"What do you want from me?" Don asked quietly, the anger largely gone, replaced by the despair that had been his almost constant companion.

"To help you."

"What if I don't want to be helped?" Don whispered, leaning his head on the glass. It was cool against his forehead. Cars were going in and out of the parking lot below.

"Why don't you want to be helped?"

Don laughed bitterly under his breath. "What do I have left? Nothing. Everything's gone."

"I don't see nothing. I see your brother and father visiting you every day, worried sick about you. I see your team working their butts off to prove that you weren't responsible for what happened. I see Liz here forgiving you for what happened."

Don shook his head, his shoulders tense. None of that mattered, not without Robin.

"As for Robin, you don't know what she's decided. You don't know what the future will hold for you two. Will it be hard to get past this? Sure, but if you give up before you even try, you'll never have the chance."

"What am I supposed to say to her? Sorry, honey, that you thought I was going to rape and kill you. Sorry that I tied you up and touched and kissed you when you didn't want me to. I was doing it all for your own good, honest."

"It'd be a start."

"Yeah, well, I have to live in the real world. And in the real world, there's nothing that I can say to her...nothing will change what happened, how she feels." Don shrugged, hand coming up to rest on the window. He let it slide down through the condensation left from his breath. "This is it. There's no more me and Robin. Trying to talk to her isn't going to change that."

"I think you're wrong on that. She loves you."

"Loved," Don corrected. "She loved me." He shook his head again. "She can't love me now, not after what happened. And what's the point, without her?"

Don ignored everything else that Bradford said, staying against the window long after Bradford finally got the idea and left. There was no point, not without Robin.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Liz apologised, when she saw that Bradford had followed her out of the room. "I shouldn't have said that."

Bradford shook his head. "Don't apologise, I think that may have been what he needed." He fixed her with an intent gaze. "Are you okay?"

Liz rubbed her hands on her forearms. She was feeling a bit shaky and cold. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. I just—" She bit her lip. "Those were not words that I ever expected to come out of Don Eppes' mouth."

"He's not in a good place right now," Bradford agreed. "If you're okay, I'm going to go back in there. I think that he might be ready to talk a bit now."

Liz nodded. "I'll be fine. Help him."

The fear that she'd felt in Don's presence was not unexpected. After everything that had happened, even though she knew that he wouldn't hurt her, she'd have been surprised if there was no fear. Instinctive reactions were unfortunately not things that could be rationalised away. She'd just never expected that Don could really think that he would be better off dead...and by her hand, too, particularly after he had gone through the ordeal of being forced to shoot Pete Fox. It was thinking that was so muddied and far away from the normal Don Eppes that it was hard to believe, unless you'd seen it. And she'd now seen it. Don was falling apart. He'd never been a person to open up much, sometimes getting him to talk about his feelings when they were dating had been like pulling teeth. He could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be, and it usually was when you really didn't want him to be and to his detriment. Dealing with his moodiness was one thing she definitely did not miss or envy Robin for.

Having reached her car, she started driving. Almost on autopilot, she ended up at the FBI office. She'd had the last few days off and she suddenly felt a need to reconnect with the rest of the team. Nikki was the only one at her desk when she arrived on their floor of the building.

"Hey, Nik."

Nikki looked up, a smile on her face, dropping the pen she'd been writing with onto the paper in front of her. "Liz, how you doing?"

Liz shrugged. "Okay. Could be better, could be worse. I just saw Don."

Nikki immediately got more serious. "How's the boss man doing?"

"Not good." Liz kept it vague, even though she did want to talk about it to someone, not wanting to undermine Don to the rest of his team. If David was around she'd tell him what had happened, but he wasn't at the moment.

At that, Nikki made an unhappy face. "We're all pulling for him, and when we find the bastard who forced him to hurt you and Robin, we'll nail him."

"Evidence is that good, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Nikki said, emphatically nodding.

"Liz."

She turned to see David coming up behind her. "David." She waited until he'd stopped beside her. "Can I have a word, in private?"

"Sure." He led the way into one of the small meeting rooms.

"I just saw Don," Liz said after she pulled the door closed behind her. "He said that I should have let him die." The anger was back again and Liz could see that what she'd said had floored David.

David tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. "Dammit. Are you okay?" he asked astutely.

"Yeah, I'm just peachy. I mean," she laughed, "I just faced the man who I was terrified was going to try to rape me or kill me a few days ago and he wishes that I had let him die. Why wouldn't I be okay?" Tears were pricking at her eyes and she angrily wiped them away. David wisely gave her a few minutes to get her composure back.

"Have you seen someone? Trauma psychologist, I mean."

"I've got an appointment for tomorrow." She knew that it was going to be important to talk it all out, and to let the emotion out before she went back to work. With all the betrayed feelings that she had, it wasn't going to be simple and easy to get over. And the sexual assault itself that she'd suffered was going to take time to deal with. The loss of control, being touched and kissed against her will, that was not going to be easy to get past. She shook her head, focussing back on Don. Somehow it was easier to talk about how he was coping than it was to talk about herself. "David, I've never seen Don like this."

"I know. We've just got to hope that everyone will get through this."

* * *

Robin gently stroked the cat's back, the contented purring just background noise. She was miles away, staring into space and not really thinking about anything. The last couple of days had been hard, with nightmares, issues with being startled easily, and finding it hard to even let her father, and sometimes her mother, touch her. And seemingly crying at the drop of a hat. That was the one she could really do without. Max, a black cat, was largely her father's cat, but he'd seemed to have sensed her need for comfort and had been spending a lot of his time with her. They'd always had cats and she missed having one. She'd have to talk to Don—

She blinked, her hand stopping to rest on Max's back. It was the first time since everything that had happened that she'd thought about the future and had automatically included Don in it. Max turned his head and nudged at her hand so she started stroking his back again. She was a little surprised that she felt so calm still, thinking about Don had been mostly setting her off into anxiety attacks or floods of tears.

She had more thinking to do.

TBC...


	18. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Start when you're ready," David said.

Don nodded, but David could see that his jaw was clamped tightly shut. It had taken a lot of effort to get Don to agree to try to give a statement, but it wasn't going to be easy. David had to be careful to not feed Don information, including Claymore's name. They needed what Don actually remembered or had figured out on his own. They had plenty of evidence to hang Claymore when they did find him, the explosive residue in his apartment being one of the last developments, but they still needed a statement from Don. And, even though he might not think it, Don really needed to start talking so he could start to heal. After his reunion with Liz he'd seemed more depressed, but then had seemed to pick up a little the following day, finally starting to interact with his father and brother. They'd all seen it as a positive sign, even if he was still pretty quiet.

"It was Sunday evening, you were with Robin Brooks in her house," David gently prodded.

"I poured her a glass of wine."

"When did you open the bottle?"

"Before—before we'd had a shower together. Robin had some, then we went upstairs. That must have been..." Don's eyes were unfocussed, his whole posture tense as he remembered. _That must have been when Claymore dosed the bottle,_ David finished in his head.

"So, you'd had a shower, you were back downstairs, and you poured Robin a glass of wine from the already opened bottle."

"Yeah. I-I wanted to get a beer, but she stopped me. So I had a glass of wine, too. She got sleepy, I took the glass off her, but then...I started to feel fuzzy too. The glasses fell on the floor...I think." He tilted his head in a shrug. "They must have. And I think I passed out." Don's brow furrowed as he thought and he finally looked up at David, a sort of horror in his eyes. "I think...I think I might have seen him."

 _What?_ That was most definitely news. "When? Before you fell unconscious?"

Don shook his head, a frustrated look on his face. "It's—" He paused, staring at something only he could see. "I-I think I sort of woke up, maybe? It's hazy. But there was somebody standing beside the couch. A man."

"Can you describe him?"

There was a few seconds of silence as Don's lips pursed and he concentrated, eyes unfocussed as he tried to remember. "He was white...maybe brown hair? He was wearing some sort of jacket and jeans, I think." His expression turned into one of disgust with himself as he half-shrugged, looking down at his watch. "I can't remember any more than that. I didn't even remember that I saw him at all, initially. It's almost like it's a dream—maybe it is," he said with a bitter laugh.

"You were drugged with GHB, Don. There's a good chance it's real. Did you recognise the man at all?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Not until I properly woke up," Don said. "The wine glasses were broken on the floor, and I knew that neither of us were that tired, that we'd just fall asleep like that."

"What time was it?"

"Around ten thirty."

Three and a half hours before Robin woke up. A lot of bad things could have happened in that time.

"What happened next?"

"I heard a man's voice, wishing me a good evening." There was anger in Don's tone, at Claymore. "I realised that it was just in one ear, that I had to have an ear piece in, and he told me that he had a microphone on me and cameras all around. He told me to go to the front door, but I wanted to test whether what he had said was true, so I stalled a bit. He could see what I was doing. I got up and he showed me the bomb." Don rubbed a finger over his bottom lip, agitated. "He threatened to blow it up if I didn't do what he said. If I obeyed him, Robin would survive. He—he said that I ruined his life, so he was going to ruin mine."

It seemed Claymore had gone for a twisted version of poetic justice: he'd lost his family and girlfriend to his crimes, even though they weren't proven, so he was going to try to force Don into a similar situation. Except Don had been proven innocent and his family hadn't abandoned him. Whether Robin would stand by him remained to be seen. The support that Don still had might be enough to get Claymore to come out of hiding and try to finish what he started.

Don stood up and started pacing, his good arm drawn tight around his body defensively, hand resting on the wrist of his other arm, which was in a sling.

"You want to take a break?" David asked gently. It was hard listening to it, harder than normal because it involved a friend and colleague, but he couldn't imagine how hard it was for Don to say.

"No," Don answered shortly. "He told me to move Robin upstairs, and then to strip her and tie her to the bed. I—" He stopped moving, his jaw working to contain the grief that he was feeling. The light caught his eyes, shining with the tears he was refusing to shed. He got himself back under control and continued. "I didn't want to do it, but he started dialling the cell for the bomb." Don sounded detached from what he was talking about again, and that didn't make David happy. Yes, it was what had gotten Don through the horrible ordeal, but it wasn't going to help him now. He needed to start dealing with it instead of pushing it away. "So I did it. I stripped her, I tied her to the bed, even though I knew she'd be terrified."

"What did you do while you waited for Robin to wake up?"

"Clean up. Washed the wine glasses and the bottle. He had a cell for me, on a table in the hall. He made me touch the bombs."

"What happened next?"

"He told me to go back upstairs, to put my gun, cell and handcuffs on her bedside table, I guess to scare her when she woke up, and to gag her. I then had to sit on the end of the bed and wait."

Which was probably when he started detaching himself from the situation, David speculated.

"Did the man talk to you, while you waited?"

"A bit. He'd...remind me that I had to do what he said, that Robin wasn't to know that there was anyone else involved, otherwise he'd blow the bombs and we'd both be dead."

"What happened when Robin woke up?"

Don sank back down into his chair, his head hanging. "I did what I was told to do. I touched her and kissed her...hit her." His voice was quiet, still emotionless, belied by the fact that he couldn't even look at David. "Then he told me to leave."

It wasn't a good idea to push at this point on what Don had done to Robin. Don had kept it to a bare bones description for his own mental health and, with how much guilt he was wallowing in, David didn't want to make it any worse. The gaps and details could be filled in later, when Don was doing better. Plus they did have Robin's statement describing what had happened.

"He told me to drive to that house and to call Colby and Liz. There were cameras in my SUV and at the house, I couldn't do anything to stop it."

"Did you test that out?"

Don nodded, still looking down at his hands, which were clenched almost into claws with how tense he was. "Yeah. He wanted me to abduct Liz, so I did. He wouldn't let me say anything other than what he wanted me to. He wanted total control over everything."

"Where did the laptop come from?"

Don tensed further at that. "It was in the house where he had me abduct Liz."

"Did you open it up, look at what was on it?"

"No."

David knew that he was lying about that point. His fingerprints were around the keyboard and on the power button, he had to have at least opened it up. Odds were the lie was to protect him from the fact that he'd been forced to watch at least one of the videos, or was shown their existence. More protection of himself from the reality of what he'd gone through.

"Are you sure?" David pushed, not wanting an outright falsehood in the statement.

"Yes."

David gave up on that particular point. "Did the man give you directions of where to drive?"

"Yeah."

"You told Liz that what happened was her fault, because Robin said no to your proposal. Was the proposal something you told the man about?"

"No, he already knew. And the only person I told about the proposal was my dad. I don't know whether Robin told anybody. The man told me to say all that to Liz."

Maybe there had also been microphones in both Don's apartment and Robin's house, that the man had removed. They knew that the cameras in Don's apartment had been removed, so it wasn't a big leap to think that there might have been something more.

"Then we changed cars. And he told me to assault Liz." Don was starting to sound exhausted, both mentally and physically.

"Was he specific about what you were to do?"

"Yeah. He told me to threaten her with the gun, and to kiss her and touch her. Liz stomped on my foot." There was a bitter, but proud, smile from Don. Liz had tried to defend herself. "He told me to handcuff her in front in the car and I drove again. We stopped in that parking lot, he told me to uncuff Liz and force her ahead of me, to push her. She got her gun and shot me."

David let the quiet stand for a few seconds, knowing that those memories most definitely would not be pleasant. "Do you think he intended for Liz to shoot you?"

"Yeah. He knew about the back up gun. He-he told me that nobody would ever know that he existed." Don looked up at David, the hint of a sad smile on his face. "Guess he was wrong."

"Anything else that you want to add at the moment?"

"No," Don replied shortly.

"Did you test the second car for cameras?" David asked. It was an important point.

"No. Liz was there, I couldn't take the risk, I couldn't risk—he'd had cameras everywhere else." The realisation dawned. "There wasn't a camera, was there? I could have done something to let Liz know." Don got up abruptly and stood by the window, looking out again.

After finishing the formalities needed to end a taped statement, David looked back at Don. He was still staring out the window, lost in thought.

"You did what you had to do, Don," David said quietly.

There was no response, but after a few seconds Don asked hesitantly, "How's Robin?"

It was the first time that he'd asked at all about Robin, and David thought that it was progress. He'd have to tell Bradford. "She's at her parents at the moment. She was pretty shaken up by it all, but you kept her alive. You're getting out of here tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah."

"There'll have to be an agent in the house with you, and one outside. I think your dad and Charlie will be happy to have you back home."

"I guess."

The depression and dejection that had been hovering over Don like a dark cloud had descended in full force again.

"I'll see you later, Don," David said, collecting the tape recorder and exiting the room. He could only hope that being back in the family home would give Don a much needed boost. And that Robin's thinking brought her to the conclusion that she wanted to try to fix her relationship with Don. If she didn't, David didn't know what would happen.

TBC...


	19. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"I know that you and that couch have an unnatural bond, but you might want to think about sleeping upstairs," Alan said lightly. For some reason Don had preferred the couch when he was recovering from the stabbing, but Alan thought it would be better if he was in his old room. "I've made up the bed."

Don looked about ready to fall face first into the remains of his dinner, and Alan hadn't seen that happen since Don was four. It had been a long first day back at home for Don, even with a nap during the middle of it.

"Okay, yeah," Don mumbled, head still angled towards the table. He didn't try to get up. It was obvious that he was having trouble even keeping his eyes open, but he was too out of it to try moving under his own steam.

"Charlie, a hand," Alan said quietly as he stood up.

Charlie immediately jumped up and helped him get Don out of the chair. Don didn't even protest at their help. They all listed alarmingly to one side for a second before Charlie said, "I've got it," and Don and he headed for the stairs. Alan followed behind, wanting to make sure that they didn't end up falling down the stairs instead of climbing up them.

"Bathroom," Don murmured when they got to the second storey, and Charlie turned them into the room. When Alan reached the doorway, Charlie was putting toothpaste on Don's toothbrush while Don sat on the closed toilet seat and rubbed his hand over his face, trying to wake up a little. Don cleaned his teeth and then kicked Alan and Charlie out of the room so that he could use the toilet.

Alan went ahead to Don's old room and turned down the covers on the bed. He moved the bag that contained Don's clothing to the side of the room, against a wall, so that there'd be no risk that Don could trip over it if he got up to go to the bathroom during the night. Even though the room had been used as a guest room for years and redecorated, it still felt like it was Don's to Alan. Don and Charlie came through the door, Charlie hovering behind, Don having woken enough to walk somewhat steadily. Lying down gingerly, Don rolled to his good side, curling up slightly. Don's eyes were closed before Alan had even covered him up.

"Call if you need anything," Alan said quietly and Don nodded in reply.

Alan turned the light out as he and Charlie left the room and pulled the door shut. They made their way back downstairs quietly and Alan set about cleaning up from dinner. Once he had all the dishes rinsed off in the sink, he went to see whether Agent Steel had finished his dinner. There wasn't anything that Alan could do to make sure that the agent sitting outside in a car had a decent meal, Agent Steel had vetoed it on the grounds of drawing further attention to the surveillance, but he could at least make sure that the agent sitting in the house ate well.

"Mr Eppes, that was wonderful," the African American agent said as Alan arrived to collect the plate. "If only we could be fed that well on all guard duty." Agent Steel smiled at him.

Alan smiled back. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've gotten rather used to feeding FBI agents over the last six years. Did you want any more?"

"No, I'm fine thanks," the agent said, handing his plate and glass over.

Returning to the kitchen, Alan washed up and then wiped the dishes from their meal. He'd have demanded that Charlie wipe, but he was finishing reviewing one of his PhD student's thesis chapters, a review that he'd promised to return the day after Don had gotten shot and had therefore never happened. As Alan was finishing the wiping, the phone rang. He hurried to answer it, hoping that it wouldn't disturb Don.

"Hello?"

There was a pause and he wondered whether there was anyone on the other end of the line or whether it was a prank phone call.

"Alan...it's Robin."

"Robin," Alan said, surprised and caught off guard. "How—" He stopped himself with some effort. "I was going to ask 'how are you', but that's rather a stupid question."

There was a weak chuckle from Robin. "That's okay...and it's not really that stupid a question. It's—it's been hard, but I'm better than I was. I-I don't know how much you know of what happened..."

"Not much," Alan interrupted. "I know that there were bombs in your house...and that—that Don was forced to assault you, but I don't know exactly what he did."

There was a moment of silence. "We were drugged, although I didn't know that Don was. When I woke up, I was...I was tied to my bed in my underwear. Don was sitting at the end of the bed just watching me. He, uh, he touched me...kissed me and slapped me across the face. I thought...I thought he was going to rape and kill me."

Alan had closed his eyes partway through, wishing that he was sitting down. Robin had to have been utterly terrified, and what Don had been forced to do was so horrible that Alan didn't want to even think about it. No wonder Don was so depressed. Hurting people was against his nature, despite the lives he'd been forced to take working for the FBI, and hurting somebody he loved that much? It'd tear him up inside.

"Robin, I'm so sorry," Alan choked out.

"Thank you," Robin simply replied, after a slight pause. "I'm going to be coming back to LA tomorrow evening—I've been at my parents. I was wondering...how's Don?"

"He got out of the hospital this morning. Physically, he's going to be fine." Alan stopped there, not sure how to broach Don's mental and emotional state. Robin needed to know, but he didn't want her to feel ambushed or pushed into having to help Don. Plus it was Don; he was mostly so private with how he was feeling, that talking about something that was obviously so raw still for Don felt, to Alan, like a betrayal. There was also the possibility that he was suicidal, not something that Alan could easily force himself to say, particularly to the woman who was both the root of the problem and the woman Don loved.

"What aren't you saying?" Robin asked astutely.

"He thinks he's lost you. He's...not handling it well."

"He hasn't lost me, not yet," Robin said quietly. "I'm not giving up, not that easily, not until we've tried to get through this. I might have wished he was dead for a few days, and I'm still terrified of the thought of being in the same room as him, but I still love him."

Alan had to clear his throat before he could speak. "I'm glad to hear that. Don'll be glad to hear that."

There was another long pause, this one more awkward. "I'll call again in the next few days," Robin finally said.

"Okay," Alan replied. "Thank you for calling, Robin."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Alan put the phone back down and rested his hands on the bench, his weight now supported. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself down. It had been a hard phone call. If he was going to help support Don, knowing at least some of what had happened was helpful, but it still hurt to hear. He couldn't even imagine his son doing the things that Robin had said. At least there was hope: Robin had not given up on her and Don. Now they just had to convince Don to not give up either. Whether they'd be able to get through it was another question, but Alan could only hope that they were both strong enough and that the damage was not deep enough to stop them.

"Hey, Dad, you okay?"

Alan leaned off the bench and turned around to find Charlie standing in the doorway. "Yeah, I'm fine," Alan lied.

"Was that the phone I heard?"

"Um, yeah. It was Robin. She's coming back to LA tomorrow. She, ah, she doesn't want to give up on her and Don."

"That's great," Charlie said enthusiastically. "Knowing that will probably help Don a lot."

"Yeah," Alan agreed, no enthusiasm in his voice. The hurdle just seemed so huge for them to get over.

"What?" Charlie asked, detecting that something was amiss. "What aren't you telling me?"

Alan filled him in on what had happened between Robin and Don.

"I can't even—" Charlie stammered, a look of horror on his face. "If I had to—to Amita..." He shook his head rapidly and shut his eyes in pain. "Poor Don. No wonder he hasn't wanted to talk to anybody. He must feel so guilty."

"Hopefully with time that'll go away," Alan said. "Or at least die down enough that he can live with it."

"Don's strong. He's strong enough to get through this. He'll be fine."

Alan wasn't sure who Charlie was trying to delude: Alan or himself.

"How's your student's thesis?" Alan asked, deciding it was time to change the subject. Plus Charlie needed to finish reading it, or his student really would not be happy.

"The structural problems are fractal in nature."

That statement was left alone. Alan really didn't need the ten minute explanation as to what he meant.

* * *

The room was dark and filled with shadows, other than for the fluorescent glow of the numbers on the clock and some light from the street that came through the window. The one problem with falling asleep so early that you practically fell face first into your dinner was that if you weren't tired enough you woke up at, oh, say, four in the morning. Twelve past four, to be exact. Don closed his eyes and tried to turn his brain off, counting down from ten repeatedly to try to relax and block out any other thoughts. It didn't work: he was annoyingly awake. Everything that he tried to not think about during the day, but still couldn't avoid thinking about, crammed into his mind, vying for his attention. A parade of images, of sounds, of memories, and of feelings. There was Liz, pleading for her life. Here came Colby, shock on his face as he pointed his gun at Don. And there was Robin, realising that he was going to kill her. With that came the inevitable soundtrack and the sickness in the pit of his stomach...and he forced it away, with some effort. He remembered what Liz had said to him instead, it was safer.

Lying in bed was pointless, he wasn't going to easily fall back asleep. Don got up and quietly opened his door, poking his head out into the hallway to see whether it was clear. Why exactly he was checking that, he wasn't sure. Odds on everybody else was asleep but him...and the agent downstairs, of course. He walked quietly down the hall and then down the stairs, trying to avoid any of the squeaky boards. Some had changed since he was a teenager. At a particularly loud creak, Don froze slightly. When Agent George Steel pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen to see him standing like a statue on the stairs he felt like an idiot. An idiot who'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Don casually started walking down the stairs again, trying to act like what had happened hadn't.

"Everything okay, Agent Eppes?" Steel asked.

"Everything's fine," Don answered shortly, avoiding Steel's gaze. He couldn't stand seeing what was in people's eyes when they looked at him now. Don didn't have a plan of what he was going to do, particularly now that he'd run into the agent, and he was a little surprised when he found himself in the kitchen. Steel hadn't followed him in, which he was grateful for. People grated on his nerves, and that included Charlie and his father. They were careful with what they said and did, tried not to leave him alone, and there was always this knowledge that Don could see, in their face and their eyes. _I know what you did. I pity you. You're falling apart._

Don looked around the kitchen. It was clean, as it always was, all the dishes from the previous night back in their places. He mechanically opened a cupboard, getting a glass for some water. He'd almost shut the door before he saw them. Several neat rows of little bottles of pills, standing in formation like soldiers, Don's painkillers in the front row. _This is where they've migrated to._ They'd normally live in the bathroom—it had been one of the first things that Don had checked (just to know the option was there, nothing more) when he'd gotten a moment alone in the bathroom. He'd been both annoyed and disappointed to find that they had been moved. Don kept the door open, his hand glued to the edge of it, holding it in place. Then his hand reached in, snatched up the bottle of painkillers, and he shut the door, prize held securely in his palm, fingers curled around it. The bottle was small enough that it would be hidden when he went back upstairs; even if Steel was watching he wouldn't know that anything had changed. Don would be just taking a glass of water back to his bedroom. Don swapped the bottle to his left hand, reassured by the feel of it, and filled the glass with water from the tap. His heart was pounding so loudly that he could feel it in his ears.

He pushed back through the door out of the kitchen, nodding slightly when Steel looked up from where he was sitting. It felt like Steel's eyes were on him as he went back up the stairs, trying to look like everything was normal, like he wasn't intending... What was he intending? Had he grabbed the bottle just for the security it offered, the option? Or was he really thinking about downing more than the prescribed dose? He made it to his room without his dad or Charlie appearing to challenge him, to see with X-ray eyes what he had in his hand and demand them back. The door clicked quietly shut and he rounded the bed, sinking down onto the edge of it, and faced the window. There was more light on that side of the room, enough that he could actually see the outline of the bottle in the palm of his hand when he let his fingers uncurl. He slipped off the edge of the bed, sitting down on the floor with his legs bent out in front of him, knees in the air and feet flat on the floor, his back resting against the side of the bed. The glass was set down beside him and he looked at the bottle in his hand. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Nothing had changed, it was always waiting there for him. Even if...even if Robin would want to try to fix things up, he knew that she wasn't the only problem. He was the problem, too. And he didn't think that he'd be able to get over it.

Opening his eyes, he knew he'd made the decision. He pried the lid off the bottle and poured the pills into his hand.

TBC...


	20. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Alan pulled Charlie away from Don's door with a disapproving frown.

"I was just—" Charlie protested quietly.

"Leave him be, he needs the sleep. You open that door and you'll probably wake him up," Alan replied just as softly. He understood the need to go in and check on Don, he'd been fighting against it since he'd woken up that morning, but Don slept lightly and would likely awaken if they did enter his room. Plus he did deserve some privacy. The long sleep would hopefully be healing, at least for his body, if not for anything else. "Go and have breakfast."

Charlie grumbled, but he made his way downstairs to join Amita. Alan had one last look at Don's door. Hopefully things would start to improve, with Robin coming back. Don's reaction when Alan shared the news would give an indication. Alan sighed and went back downstairs to get his own breakfast.

Before long it was only he, Agent Howard, who'd replaced Agent Steel, and Don left in the house. Don still hadn't woken, or at least left his room, although Alan hadn't heard any movement upstairs. He decided to give it another half an hour before waking Don. Too much sleep and he'd have trouble sleeping that night.

Alan fired up his laptop and checked both his work and personal email. The amount of spam that the work spam filters let through was annoying. It left him wondering what the point of it was, it didn't seem to be filtering anything.

The project he was working on could be done from home, which was lucky. He'd been given leave to work from home for at least a week, possibly more if he needed it. It was a relief, because he really didn't want to leave Don alone for long. He needed some things from the store later on and he'd suggest that Don (and his bodyguard) come too. Being around a bit of 'normal' would probably help and Alan was hoping that discussing food for their next meals might draw Don out a bit. He was still quiet, even for him, and not really interested in his food—which was definitely not normal.

The half hour passed quickly and Alan journeyed back upstairs. He knocked on Don's door and called softly, "Donnie?"

He waited for a few seconds, but there was no response. Odds on, Don was still asleep. "Don, time to get up," he called louder. When there was still no sound of movement or Don replying, he opened the door, knocking on it again as he pushed it open.

"Don, you—"

Don wasn't in his bed. The bedclothes were still rumpled and Alan knew that he hadn't been downstairs all morning. The bathroom door wasn't closed, so maybe he was still in the room. _Hurt...lying on the other side of the bed, unable to call for help for some reason_.

Alan hurried around the bed. His stomach lurched and he felt a little dizzy when the tableau beside the bed revealed itself to his eyes. It took a second for his brain to catch up with his eyes and realise that Don was still alive, despite the open bottle of pills sitting beside him on the floor.

"Donnie..." His voice was wobbly. _What am I supposed to say?_

"I haven't taken any." Don sounded weary and he wouldn't look up at Alan. He opened his closed fist and there were the pills. "I want to...b-but I can't." His brow furrowed, like he was puzzled as to why he couldn't kill himself.

"Don, give me the pills." Alan sounded cool and calm, but he was anything but. He moved closer to Don, crouching down with his hand out. All that did was prompt Don to close his fist again.

"No. I-I can't."

"Don, please, give me the pills." There was both command and pleading in his tone. Alan was terrified.

"Please...don't-don't tell anyone." Don finally looked at Alan and the emptiness and loss in his eyes shocked Alan.

"I won't," Alan lied, "if you give me the pills."

Don's nose wrinkled and his lips pressed together as he restrained tears. "I can't, Dad," he whispered.

Alan thought desperately. "Can you at least put them back in the bottle?" he finally asked. It was the only thing he could think of, that still gave Don the 'option' but made things a little less volatile. _Unless he picked up the bottle and just downed them._ At least if they were in the bottle Don's body heat wasn't causing their outer coating to melt more. "You can keep the bottle."

There was a long moment of silence in which Don looked at his hand and Alan thought about ending it by force. If he grabbed Don's wrist, he'd probably be able to force him to let go of the pills. And he could call Agent Howard; between the two of them they'd be able to stop Don. But he wanted it to be Don's choice to give away the option of suicide. Alan had no idea how long he'd been sitting there with the pills, but he hadn't killed himself. Part of him didn't want to. Alan wanted to give that part a chance to win out, as much as he wanted his son safe right then.

"Okay," Don agreed. He picked up the bottle and tipped the pills in it. A few stuck to Don's hand and he had to shake it to get them to fall. Alan was hoping that he'd put the bottle back down on the floor, but he kept hold of it, his grip so tight that his knuckles were white. Holding onto it for grim death.

"Talk to me. Please," Alan pleaded.

Don blinked slowly and shook his head, sadness apparent in his entire body. "I can't."

Alan suddenly thought of something that might help. "Robin called last night. She's coming back to LA this evening. She hasn't given up, Don. She wants to try to get through this. She still loves you."

"You're just saying that."

"It's the truth," Alan said, feeling himself start to choke up. He wasn't prepared to deal with this, he didn't know how to deal with this, how to help Don, particularly if Don wouldn't talk to him or believe him.

"It doesn't matter, even if it is."

"It does. You have to try, Don. You don't know what the future holds. Six months from now you and Robin could be back to where you were."

Don shook his head again, before letting it slump back against the bed. "We can't go back. It can't ever be the same."

"Maybe you're right, but it can still be good. You can still be a couple, love each other, get married. You can, but if you don't try, you never will."

The words still weren't getting through. Don had closed his eyes, blocking Alan out. He'd brought his hand in close to his body, protecting the bottle of pills. Alan finally noticed the glass of water on the other side of Don—he'd been prepared.

 _I can't help him._ Despair and fear swamped through Alan. There was only one thing he could do. He stood back up, making sure to keep his eye on Don.

"Agent Howard," he called loudly. The panic that he couldn't restrain from his voice would likely bring the agent running. He was right. There were thudding footsteps in the hall and then the agent appeared at the door.

"Mr Eppes, what's wrong?" The agent had his hand resting on his gun, ready to deal with any threat. "Where's Agent Eppes?"

The bed was blocking the agent's view of Don and for that Alan was grateful. Don really did not need some random agent seeing him like this.

"Could you please call Dr Bradford and ask him to come here as soon as he can?" Alan asked, the fear still present in his words. "The number is downstairs, beside the phone. It's urgent."

There was a pause, the agent assessing things and probably thinking through what he'd been briefed on. "Okay. Is there anything else I can do?"

"No, just that at the moment."

The agent nodded and left the room. Alan looked back down at Don, before walking to the window and sitting down to lean against the wall beside it. He groaned slightly when he got down, his knees having protested the effort.

Alan let the silence reign for a while, taking the opportunity to really study Don. He was incredibly tense and looked defeated. He'd hit rock bottom.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

Don didn't look at him. "Since a bit after four."

A chill ran down Alan's spine. If he'd swallowed the pills that early, all that Alan would have found would be a cooling body. Something had stopped him, maybe the fact that his death would hurt Charlie and his father, maybe just that part of him—even if it was a small part of him—that believed that there was hope. Maybe just his natural stubbornness. Whatever it was, Alan was grateful for it. He still had his son.

"Just give me the pills, Don, please." One last plea, and then he'd leave it to Dr Bradford.

"I'm sorry," Don murmured, not moving an inch.

The wait for Bradford was agony. Alan kept on looking at his watch, only to find that a minute or two had passed. Then finally he heard footsteps on the stairs, down the hall, and Agent Howard was showing Bradford into the room.

"Dr Bradford," Alan said with relief.

"Mr Eppes," Bradford replied as the agent disappeared again. "Can I come around the bed?"

"Yes," Alan said hurriedly. "Don needs your help."

Bradford walked over and looked at Don as he came to stand near Alan. "Mind if I pull up a piece of floor?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead settling himself down beside Alan. "So, Don, how are you this morning?"

Don didn't answer, instead allowing his clenched hand to open to show the bottle of pills that he held.

"Ah," Bradford said. "So I'm guessing that's the reason for the glass of water beside you, too. Do you want your dad to stay here?"

Don shook his head.

"Mr Eppes," Bradford said, with some apology.

Alan nodded. "All right." He didn't want to leave Don, but if Bradford could help him, that was all that mattered. Leaving the room was hard, but he did it. He pulled the door mostly shut behind him and walked slowly downstairs.

"Mr Eppes, here, sit down."

Agent Howard guided him into a chair and it was only then that Alan realised that he'd started shaking. The tremors increased in intensity and the agent covered him with the blanket that Don had been using when he was downstairs.

The agent disappeared and then reappeared a minute or so later with a cup of tea. Alan waited until the shaking subsided a bit before attempting to pick it up, not wanting to spill it all over himself. The liquid seemed to spread warmth throughout him when he took his first sip.

"Is there someone I can call for you?" Howard asked. "Your other son?"

"No, it's okay," Alan said. All that would accomplish was another freaked out family member. He'd tell Charlie about it later, when the danger was hopefully over.

* * *

Bradford watched him. They'd both been silent since his dad had left the room. The despair that he'd been feeling ever since his life had gone to shit hung over him, suffocating him. And despite all of it, he still couldn't kill himself. One more thing he'd failed at. He hadn't been able to force himself to bring the pills to his mouth. They'd been poured between his hand and the bottle so many times over the morning. He hadn't wanted his dad to find him like that, for anyone to see him like that.

"How long have you been sitting here?" Bradford finally asked.

"Since four."

"I'm guessing your dad asked you to hand over the bottle and you said no."

Don didn't respond, it was obvious enough.

"I can't help you unless you talk to me Don, unless you want help."

He didn't want to talk, but maybe Bradford was right. The weight was crushing him, maybe shared it would seem less. _Yeah, right._

"How is talking going to change anything? It's not going to change what happened, how I feel."

"You're right. The past is the past, we can't change that. But talking about it can help."

Don closed his eyes, before opening them again abruptly. Robin was there.

"It's always there," he whispered, the words coming out of him involuntarily.

"What is?"

"What I did—Robin and Liz and Colby. It's always there." He shook his head. "It never goes. Whenever I close my eyes, when I sleep, when I'm alone, it's always there." Don tapped his head with the fingers, then shrugged and pressed his lips together. "And..." He cut himself off, unable to say it and whispered instead, "I just want it to stop."

Bradford stayed silent.

"With Pete Fox, I thought I'd hit rock bottom. But I was wrong, I was nowhere near it." Don looked down at the bottle he held in his hand. He knew he couldn't take the pills—not now that his dad and Bradford were involved, and not before, even though a large part of him had wanted to. But he couldn't give the pills up. Because giving them up would mean that he was staying in the land of the living, with all its humiliations and hurts, and Don wasn't sure he had the strength to do that. Not yet.

"How often have you thought about suicide since you woke up in the hospital?"

"Whenever I'm awake," Don admitted quietly. "It's always there at the back of my thoughts. I just—it _hurts_." Don looked down. "I can't see how anything can ever be okay again. Even if Dad was telling the truth and Robin does want to try to move past this, it's not just her that's...it's not just her."

"Why would your dad lie about that?" Bradford seemed genuinely curious as to why Don would think it.

Don huffed a laugh, although there was no real humour in it. "Well, somehow I don't think he was telling the truth about not telling anyone, if I gave him the pills."

"Probably not," Bradford agreed. "But I don't think that he'd lie about Robin."

"I hope she's okay," Don murmured. "She must have been so scared and confused."

"Betrayed."

Don looked at Bradford, not expecting him to have added that word.

"Yeah, I guess. She thought she knew me, and then I did... _that_ to her."

 _"Press play again, Agent Eppes. I'm not done yet."_

 _He tried to block the sounds out as he pressed play, wanted to tell the man to go to hell, but he couldn't. He wanted to be sick._

"Don. Don!"

Bradford was crouched down in front of him, looking worried. Don hadn't seen him move from where he was sitting.

"Wha—?" Don said, slightly confused.

"I think you just had a flashback, Don. It's okay, you're safe."

Bradford gave him a minute or two to get his head back in the real world and try to calm down.

"What was it about?"

The question forced Don to think about it and he shied away from it. He could feel himself shaking and he was feeling sick. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to get some comfort and security. It didn't help.

"What was it about, Don?"

"I can't," Don whispered, rapidly shaking his head. "I can't. Please-please don't make me."

"Was it something to do with what's on the laptop?"

That jarred Don's head up. _How could..._

Don shook his head again, feeling himself get more agitated. "I don't know what was on the laptop."

"I don't believe you. Your fingerprints are around the keyboard, Don. And on the power button."

"No," Don denied, feeling tears pricking his eyes.

"What happened with the laptop, Don?" Bradford pushed again, his tone firm but gentle.

Don screwed his eyes shut, feeling himself fold under the pressure. "He made me watch them," he whispered, opening his eyes again. Wetness started to form, sliding down his cheeks. "He told me to watch the first video." It still revolted him. "God, he'd been watching us. He taped us having sex. As soon as I saw what it was, I closed the video. He-he _laughed_ at me. Said, 'That's okay, I've got another video you'll like better.' He made me download a video and told me to play it. Told me that if I stopped that one, he'd blow up Robin. So I watched it, watched what I did to Robin. And then he told me to press play _again_. And again. And again. And again. Over and over. And all the while—" Don brought his right hand up to his face, pressing his loosely curled fist against his mouth, the bottle of pills forgotten on the floor. The urge to throw up was there, like it always was. "All the while he was getting himself off on it. I could hear him. I could hear when..." He couldn't say it. He just couldn't.

Don buried his face in his hand, feeling the sobs really start. Every time he thought about Robin, all he could see was that tape and all he could hear were the grunts and moans and filthy commentary from the pervert getting off, getting off on what Don had done to Robin.

How was he supposed to move past that?

TBC...


	21. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 21

Chapter 21

By the time the tears had stopped, Don felt nauseous and dizzy. He still shook like a petrified chihuahua. Then the heaving started. Bradford had seemed to have anticipated it, putting the trash can from the room in front of him at the first gag. There wasn't much in his stomach to bring up, but his body kept on insisting that he still try to part ways with it. It only added to the dizziness and spots dancing in his vision, making him worry that he was going to pass out and fall face first into his vomit. Finally his stomach started to calm, other than for the twinges being caused by the smell. Don pushed the trash can away from him and Bradford got the hint, starting to pull it away before apparently reconsidering.

"You might want to rinse, first." Bradford indicated the glass of water still sitting beside Don. The glass that he'd intended to use to help down the pills.

Don picked it up, feeling the wetness slosh over his hand as he shook. He rinsed and spat twice, before taking some small sips as Bradford left the room with the trash can. He heard Bradford calling for the agent guarding Don, to ask him to dispose of it.

 _Sucks to be you._ The humour was fleeting, but at least it was there. Don looked around for the bottle of pain killers, realising that he must have dropped it at some point after the flashback. It was nowhere to be seen; Bradford had to have pocketed it. He no longer had the option. There was an initial flash of disappointment and then he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Bradford came back into the room and pulled a blanket off the bed, placing it beside Don.

"Thanks," Don said, pulling the blanket over himself. The warmth was nice.

"You're welcome."

"I threw up, before I left Robin's house that night," Don remembered, his voice still rough. "He made me lick her neck and that was the final straw." Don realised something. "I guess he didn't want Liz to know, because he insisted that I chew some of the gum I keep in my SUV."

"Probably," Bradford agreed. "From the sound of it, he had everything planned, he knew what he was going to force you to do. The smell of vomit on your breath might have made Liz question what was going on." He pulled the bottle out of his pocket. "Do you want these back?" The question was matter of fact.

Don sucked in a breath. It had to be a trick, there was no way Bradford would take the risk. Don shook his head and found that he actually did mean it. "No."

"The only things that are going to help this are time and talking. You and Robin need to see each other, sooner rather than later."

His heart started to race at the thought, and not in an 'I'm in love' good way. "No, I can't, not yet," Don protested.

"The longer you leave it, the harder it'll be. You've got a lot of fear about seeing Robin again, which is understandable, but if you leave it, that fear will get worse. If you don't start to replace the images and sounds in your head they'll stick around for longer. I'm not talking about you going on a date or anything, first meeting we're probably talking five minutes at maximum, because it's going to freak you both out. It'll be hard, but you both need to start working past this as soon as possible."

"Getting back on the horse and all that, huh?" Don murmured, rubbing his thumb over his lip. He knew that what Bradford had said made sense, but it still scared the shit out of him. There were too many what ifs and he knew that, no matter what, it was going to hurt. Not just him, but Robin too. He still didn't think it was going to be possible for him to get over it. Another wave of despair washed over him, threatening to pull him under deep. Deep enough that he wanted those pills back.

"What are you thinking about?" Bradford asked, eagle-eyed as ever.

"I'm never going to be able to move beyond this," Don whispered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Even now, he could still hear what he really didn't want to hear.

"Maybe you won't."

 _What...?_ Don stared at Bradford, frowning.

"It's always a possibility," Bradford continued. "A month from now, you could be sitting in your apartment contemplating eating your gun, because it hasn't gotten any better. And maybe you'll do it, leaving your body with brains and blood splattered everywhere for your dad or Charlie or one of your team to find."

The words hurt. Bradford shouldn't be saying them. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's a possibility, one that you're dwelling on. Me, I prefer to think that a month from now you and Robin will be sitting down in a nice restaurant, having a romantic dinner. And arguing over who's going to pay. I'm betting she's the sort of woman who won't let you pay all the time."

Don inclined his head, feeling himself smile slightly. "You're right, there." He let out a small laugh. There'd been one memorable time when it almost did turn into a fight, before sanity had prevailed and they'd both calmed down—and Don had given in. After that they'd started taking turns paying, unless it was a special event. At least she'd never objected to him opening the car door for her. The first time he'd done it she'd given him this surprised and flattered grin that made her eyes dance and he'd hammed it up, bows and flourishes and all. He suddenly realised that not once had the terrible memories intruded on the happy ones he was thinking about. Of course, once he'd realised that, it started. But it gave him something new to think about, that maybe Bradford was right. Maybe he could get past what had happened.

"What are you thinking about now?" Bradford asked.

"That I'm not going to get past it, get back with Robin, unless I try." Don still wasn't sure whether he was strong enough, but maybe he could find out.

* * *

Don stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his sweat pants, head hanging slightly. He was nervous and scared. Two hours after he'd arrived, Bradford had finally left. The last thing he'd done before leaving the house was given Don back the bottle of pills. Don hadn't wanted to take them, but he had...and he was going to give them back to his dad, after taking his morning dose. If he could ever get up the courage to get his dad's attention.

The kitchen smelt surprisingly good and Don's stomach rumbled in agreement, despite the throwing up he'd done that morning. He'd been awake for hours yet hadn't eaten since the previous night, and even then, his appetite wasn't what it normally was.

"You feeding agents again?" Don tried to give the words a light tone, but he still saw Alan's back stiffen. Agent Leo Howard, who Don had met a few times before, was sitting out in the living room happily eating pancakes. Don hoped it made up for having to deal with his vomit.

"Well, I know from my son that they often don't eat well or regularly." Alan was pissed off and upset, but he was trying to hide it. "Do you want some?"

"Yeah, thanks," Don said, finally moving out of the doorway. He got a new glass for water, he'd forgotten to bring down the old one from upstairs, noticing as he did so the bare patch where the medications had been sitting early that morning. Alan had hidden them somewhere else. Don filled the glass halfway with water from the tap and pulled his pills out of his pocket. He shook one out and swallowed it with the water before placing the bottle on the sliver of bench between Alan and the stove.

Don was fairly certain he wasn't going to seriously contemplate suicide again, at least not to the degree that he'd be moments away from it, but having an easy option out of reach would at least give his dad some comfort.

Alan glanced down at the bottle before going back to tending the pancakes.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Don murmured, unable to stand the silence any more. He didn't really know what else to say—it felt like all he'd been saying lately. Don knew he wasn't 'fixed' by any stretch of the imagination, but he did feel a little calmer than he had in the previous week.

Alan dropped his spatula with a clatter and turned around. The look on his face made Don back up a step: grief and anger all rolled into one. Alan was moving abruptly and, despite another unconscious step back from Don, he was soon pulled into his father's tight embrace. They'd never been a touchy-feely, huggy family, so it initially shocked Don, before he relaxed his tightened muscles and returned it, resting his head on his dad's shoulder.

"Nothing is so bad that that's the answer, you hear me?" Alan whispered harshly, squeezing him a little for emphasis. "I cannot lose you."

Don nodded against his dad's shoulder, feeling the slight sting of tears again. He hadn't dared to look at himself in the mirror upstairs, knowing that his eyes would be reddened and his skin pale. Trying to get past it: the only way he knew how was to start putting his walls back in place. Sure, talk to Bradford, but falling this completely and openly apart wasn't him. And it hurt the people around him. Don restrained the tears with a conscious effort and loosened his grip on his dad, pulling slightly away. Alan deliberately held him for a moment longer before giving him the space he wanted.

"The pancakes," Alan said with slight alarm, hurrying back to the stove to rescue them. "I'm not asking you to talk to me, if you can't," Alan said, probably finding it easier to speak without actually having to face Don. "But I'm here. I want to help, anyway I can."

"I know you do, Dad," Don replied. "I'm just...he really fucked with my head. It's going to take time, that's all."

"To unfuck your head?" Alan asked dryly.

"As much as it ever is," Don muttered under his breath. "Yeah," he said louder. "Are you going to tell Charlie, about this morning?" The fewer people who knew, the better, as far as Don was concerned. He'd rather that Charlie didn't know, it would hit him hard.

"No," Alan said, to his relief. "You are."

"Dad—" Don started objecting.

"No," Alan replied forcefully, "listen to me. You don't have to go into the detail, you don't even have to tell him that you were thinking about..." He couldn't say the words. "—doing what you were thinking you were going to do this morning, but you will tell him that you had a bad morning. Charlie is not unaware as to how this has hurt you, and he's holding it together for now. Let him help you, be your support."

Don bit his lip and shook his head. "I dunno, Dad, when it starts getting too close to home..."

"Just give him a chance, Don. Now go and sit out at the table, your pancakes will be ready in a minute. And we're going to the store later on. You are going to help me pick out what you will actually eat over the next few days, rather than just move around on your plate."

Don sighed and then pushed open the swinging door, doing as he was told.

* * *

"You asleep?"

"If I am, my foot is awake." Don opened his eyes to see Charlie sitting across from him, rocking the slightly mad professor vibe. Untucked shirt, jacket complete with patches on the elbows, tie and slightly baggy pants with trainers. It was a fashion disaster. "I was just resting my eyes."

"You know, I've seen dogs' feet move like that when they're asleep." There was a twinkle in Charlie's eyes and a smile curved his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, you calling me a dog?" Don forced the humour, even though he didn't quite feel it. He'd tried hard over the day, and now he was exhausted from trying to be more positive and keeping from showing his real feelings.

"Maybe."

"At least I don't get distracted by squirrels and tennis balls." He hadn't particularly wanted to watch _Up_ , but Robin had conned him into it. And he might not admit it to the rest of his team, but he'd loved it. An image of Robin, eyes swollen from tears, staring at him in terror made it past his defences, lingering in his mind and bringing it all crashing back down on him again.

"Hey, bro, where did you go?"

Charlie's face was just inches from his own, concern causing frown lines. "You're shaking." Charlie pulled the blanket in Don's lap up to cover him further and Don batted his hands away, suddenly angry at being coddled.

"Just back off, Chuck."

Charlie raised his hands in surrender. "It's just a blanket, Donald."

That deflated Don. Charlie was just trying to help and Don had snapped at him. Don pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't have a very good morning. Or rest of the day, really."

"Yeah? That why the bottles of pills have moved again? And why there are no knives in the kitchen?"

The second question surprised Don. "No knives? I didn't know that Dad had done that." He decided against mentioning that forks and anything that could be broken to give a sharp edge could be dangerous. If he really wanted to kill himself, there was always a way.

Charlie looked at him seriously and spoke, his voice soft. "I can't even imagine how you're feeling right now—"

Don snorted slightly, no humour in the sound. "I'd say it's like hitting rock bottom."

Charlie's eyebrows moved as he realised that they were having a conversation that they'd had before.

"No, actually," Don amended, "that was this morning. Now I'm about a foot above and whenever I look down I can see rock bottom."

"Well, don't look down," Charlie replied quickly. "What I was _trying_ to say was that I'm here for you." Charlie scratched at the side of his nose, ruining a little the seriousness of his words. "I'm not going anywhere."

Don was grateful for the sentiment, but he couldn't trust it. Past performance indicated that Charlie was going to check out at some point. And that was okay. They all dealt with things differently and Don wouldn't change how much Charlie felt and cared, not for the world. "Not even to hole yourself up in the garage?"

"Not even. I'm not saying that there hasn't been a few bad moments, but I'm still here."

Don had to laugh.

"What?" Charlie asked with bemusement.

"We're quite a pair. I'm trying not to kill myself and you're trying not to get lost inside your head and math." Don finally noticed how Charlie was looking at him, the kicked puppy expression on his face indicating that what Don had said had hurt. He shrugged with a sad smile. "It is what is is, Charlie. Sugar coating it and avoiding those words aren't going to change it."

"It just makes it seem more real when you say it," Charlie said sadly. "I guess if you don't say it, I know it's there, but it's not as bad, somehow."

Don picked at a piece of fluff on the blanket, eyes cast down. "It is real."

"I wish it wasn't."

"So do I, buddy. So do I. But, hey, that's why I'm going to be seeing Bradford for an hour most days for the foreseeable future."

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Don continued to remove the little balls of fluff from the blanket. He was building up quite a collection.

"I hear you got out of the house," Charlie said with false enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I went shopping with Dad. It's amazing how many people actually watch the news."

Charlie winced. "Ah. You got recognised?"

"Yep, a few times."

By the third time it had happened, Don had had enough. He'd taken a deliberate and sudden step forward in the woman's direction, a scowl on his face, causing her to scuttle off like a cockroach after you'd turned on the light. If nothing else, it had amused the two agents who were shadowing him. Then there had been the cashier, who knew both Don and Alan a little, and had proceeded to go on and on about how he hadn't believed what he'd heard on the news and how he was so happy to see that Don was okay. At that point, getting more and more anxious and uncomfortable, Don had made up a story about getting something from another store and left with his escort, before waiting outside for his father. It had been both exhausting and frustrating. Alan's 'normal' experience had turned into anything but, although it had always been doomed by the attendance of Don's protectors. Don had also not being able to shake the feeling that he was being watched, that whoever had forced him to hurt Robin and Liz was around, ready to ruin his life in some other way.

"Tell me about your day," Don said, wanting to change the subject, get it off him.

"My day?" Charlie said, sounding surprised. "I taught some classes, got another chapter of thesis to read—oh, that reminds me." Charlie put his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper and handing it to Don. "This was stuck to my office door this morning."

"PhD comics?" Don read, immediately looking for something that identified what it was. "There's a comic for PhD students?"

"Yeah. Just read it."

It was divided into two halves: Meeting Agenda and Meeting Reality. The meeting agenda half looked reasonable, a meeting at 9:30 am that finished at 10:30 am, discussing the student's progress. The meeting reality, on the other hand, made Don laugh at the first line.

" _Wait for advisor to show up. Keep waiting. Ah, there he is_. Do you do that to your students, Charlie, show up a half hour late?"

"Keep reading."

Don grinned at the next line. " _Remind Professor who you are and what you do._ "

Then it was _Review goals from last we—_ , followed by one that really made Don chortle.

" _Professor's—"_ Someone had crossed out 'Admin. assistant' and replaced it. " _—fiancée interrupts._ _Uncomfortable silence._ " Then there was another bit that had been edited. " _Phone call from someone more important from the FBI._ Man, your students must hate you." Don grinned.

"The next line is especially true."

"Hah! _Present plot you made an hour ago._ Your students really that bad?"

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said.

"Were you that bad?" Don gave him a speculative look.

"No, of course not."

"Right, I believe you."

Don finished reading. _Advisor tells you what to d— Oops! He's late for another meeting!_

"Do you know who put it up?"

"I've got a pretty good idea," Charlie replied. "Probably the one who keeps on bombarding me with thesis chapters."

"Nah, it's always the ones you never expect," Don said. "Why did you take it down?"

Charlie shrugged. "It doesn't look very professional, if I leave it on my door."

"Oh, come on, can't you leave it up, even for a week? Somebody went to the effort, you should at least acknowledge the joke."

"Okay," Charlie said, "you've convinced me." He held out his hand and Don gave him back the piece of paper. "Mmm." Charlie inhaled deeply. "I think dinner might be ready. You coming?"

"Yeah."

TBC...


	22. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The techniques that Bradford was giving Don to try to put the bad memories out of his mind worked sometimes, and that was a blessing. Otherwise he just needed to try to distract his mind, which mostly meant watching TV, particularly in the middle of the night when he woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. He started going through Charlie and Amita's dvd collection and, figuring that five hours of Jane Austen would surely put him to sleep in the first half hour, started watching the BBC version of _Pride and Prejudice_. He was somewhat surprised to find that Elizabeth Bennet was hot and there was a lot of tongue-in-cheek humour in it, making it less boring than he'd expected. Still not the most interesting thing he'd ever watched or to his taste, really, but not as bad as he thought it would be. He was relieved that there was no longer an agent in the house to see him watching it, only one in the car outside.

"Hey, Don."

Don paused the dvd, feeling somewhat guilty and embarrassed at being caught. It could have been worse, it could have been his dad or Charlie instead of Amita.

Don craned his neck, following Amita around until she sat on another chair. "Hey, what are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes the wedding stuff just won't let me sleep. You couldn't sleep either?"

"Nah, figured Jane Austen might do it."

At Amita's grin, he could tell she wasn't buying it. "You don't _look_ like it's putting you to sleep."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

Amita raised her eyebrows, her grin widening.

"Okay, okay...but if you tell _anybody_ I'll..." Don initially couldn't think of a suitable threat. "I'll shave Charlie's head on his stag night."

"My lips are sealed." Amita put her hand up to her mouth, turning a pretend key and then tossing it away.

"Elizabeth is hot," was all Don would admit to. "Why do you love it? I'm assuming that the dvd is yours, and not Charlie's."

"Mr Darcy is hot," Amita answered in kind with a wide grin, tucking one of her long curling locks behind her ear.

"What is it with women and Mr Darcy?" Don asked. He shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. In what he'd watched so far, he couldn't see the appeal.

"Robin?"

"Yeah, she loves Mr Darcy. She tried to get me to watch this once." No amount of cajoling could have convinced him into that at the time. It had seemed like five hours of hell.

"A lot of women seem to like brooding characters, I don't know why, exactly. But how we see Darcy changes as you get further in, anyway." She gave what Don could only categorise as a lecherous grin. "Plus he would win a wet shirt competition part way through."

Don shook his head with a smile. "I always knew that you women were just as shallow as us men."

"We're just better at hiding it." Amita's mouth was open like she was going to say more, but she hesitated.

Don inclined his head. "What?"

"Maybe you should leave watching this...until you can watch it with Robin. I'm sorry," Amita hurriedly said, when he didn't speak and just stared off into space. "I shouldn't have said anything." She started uncurling her pyjama-clad legs out of her seat. "I'll just—"

"No." Don stopped her, his hand up. "It's okay. You're right. I'll leave it to watch with her." If they got back together, it'd score him major brownie points and would make her happy, to share something she loved with him. And if they didn't, he'd just never watch it.

"Don, can I ask you something?"

Even though her tone and hesitation told Don he probably wasn't going to like what she asked, he answered, "Sure."

"Why didn't you tell Charlie about proposing to Robin?" Her brow wrinkled as she frowned slightly. "You told your dad, and Charlie hasn't said anything, but I know he's hurt that you didn't tell him as well."

This was a conversation that called for beer. Actually, most of the conversations in the past few days had called for beer. Unfortunately Don wasn't allowed to have any, both on doctor's and Bradford's orders.

"It's not—I didn't deliberately _not_ tell Charlie." Don pulled a face, looking at his watch. "I didn't deliberately tell my dad, either. You and Charlie, you were so wrapped up in your wedding arrangements, figuring out a date and everything. And I felt like an idiot when Robin said no. And then when we'd sorted it out, it-it just kinda seemed like there was...no point, I guess, in telling anyone else. I mean, I proposed, she said no, she explained why she said no, and that was that. I figured I'd tell him when I asked her again and she said yes."

"You sound pretty confident that she would have said yes."

He shrugged. "She said she would, when I was really ready to ask."

"And you're wondering whether you'll ever get to, now," Amita said astutely.

Don lowered his gaze, rubbing his right thumb over his other palm. "Yeah."

"She loves you. I know you can both get through this."

Don could tell from the conviction in Amita's voice that she really did believe it. But he still wasn't sure.

"So, if we're not watching _Pride and Prejudice_ , what else should I put on?" Don changed the subject. " _Princess Bride_?"

"I can never watch that movie too many times."

"As you wish." Don got up to change the dvd.

* * *

There were too many hours until Don's appointment with Bradford and, by extension, the first time he'd see Robin since he'd left her tied to her bed. Bradford had kept to his word—it had only been two days since Don's meltdown, two days in which Don had felt like he'd gained a little ground and steadier footing, if not much sleep. He woke up around seven to find that he was still downstairs, in front of the TV. There was no sign of Amita and the TV was off, but he didn't remember watching the movie all the way through. At least he had gotten more sleep, though he didn't feel particularly rested for it.

He managed to annoy his dad with his hovering in the kitchen and offers of help with cooking breakfast and ended up being banished from the room. For some reason his dad wasn't trusting him anywhere near the stove or a knife. That trust was going to take a while to be built up again.

Don couldn't concentrate on anything for more than half an hour, not even the TV. He was full of nervous energy and slowly driving his family insane. At least the koi didn't complain when he paced back and forth near their pond for a while. He was starting to think that his dad was right—he needed some hobbies that weren't sport related.

When he went back in the house his father was looking through a pile of mail.

"Anything for me?"

"Yes, actually," Alan replied, handing off a standard-sized envelope when Don walked over to him.

The envelope was plain, no return address or name on the back. Don slid his finger under the flap, quickly opening it. The back of what looked like a photograph was facing him and he pulled it out, turning it over. He drew a loud breath in shock and almost dropped it.

"Donnie?" Alan moved to stand behind him, concerned at his son's reaction. "Oh, my... I'm going to call David."

Don was standing still, not really able to take it in. It was a photo of him and Robin on the sofa in her house, Robin unconscious and him with his eyes only just open. It was a photo from the day that they were drugged, that he'd been forced to do so many horrible things.

 _There was a man standing over them. Don's mind wasn't working right, but he knew that he didn't belong there, in Robin's house. The alarm he felt at that was distant, smothered by the sluggish feel of his body and brain. There was a flash of light that hurt Don's eyes, that made him flinch._

"It just arrived in the mail. I think he's in shock, he's just been standing there. Who would do such a horrible thing..."

"Agent Eppes. Agent Eppes?"

There was a touch on his arm and he jumped, jerking his head up to lock eyes with Agent Howard, bringing him back into the present. Don hadn't heard him come into the house.

"Agent Eppes, can you put the photograph and envelope down on the table for me?"

"Yeah, sure," Don murmured, doing so. Only his and whoever had sent it's fingerprints would be on the photograph then. They wouldn't need to eliminate anybody else's.

"Agent Sinclair is going to be here shortly," Agent Howard said. "Why don't you sit down?"

The agent put his hand on Don's arm again and Don backed up, jerking his arm away, not liking the touch.

"Easy there, Agent Eppes." Howard held his hands up, palms towards Don.

Don's eyes were drawn back to the photograph. Robin and he were so helpless, at the man's mercy. And the man was trying to put him back into that position by tormenting him with the photograph, with his control. Anger started to build up in Don's gut, anger at what had been done to him and what was still being done to him. It felt welcome, after the days of depression. Anger was more useful, it could be channelled. He clenched his hands into fists, squeezing as tightly as he could. He wasn't going to let himself be controlled anymore, not by this.

"Donnie?" his dad asked, concern in his voice.

"I'm fine, Dad." Don went back to the table, turning the envelope over to see whether there was a postmark. There was, meaning it had come with the rest of the mail, and hence no agent's ass needed kicking. There was something to trace. "You said that David's on his way?"

"Yeah," Howard replied.

Looking at the photo again brought another flash of the man standing over them, the clearest remembrance he'd had. He could see more than the brown hair, jeans and jacket that he'd told David about, he could see the man's features. And he was familiar. Why was he familiar?

"Don, why don't—"

"Dad, I'm fine," Don snapped. "Just let me think."

Odds on the man was someone that Don had come into contact with through the FBI, seeing as he'd called Don 'Agent Eppes' and said that he'd ruined his life. Don started thinking through the sexual crimes he'd investigated, as it seemed the most logical place to start. He knew that the FBI had figured out who the man was, but David hadn't told him, as he was a victim. Probably both to protect him from himself, if he decided to go after his attacker, and to see whether he remembered more detail on his own.

It didn't take him long to come up with a name that matched the face.

"Michael Claymore," Don said quietly. It was definitely him. Don had been certain that Claymore had been responsible for the rapes that they'd investigated, even if they hadn't been able to prove it. He'd targeted couples...and Don realised just how lucky he'd been that Claymore hadn't decided to push him any further. If Claymore had demanded that he rape either Robin or Liz—Don didn't know what he would have done. With the threat of death, while he was in the house for both Robin and himself and when he was out of the house for Robin, could he have forced himself to do it, if Claymore had said that otherwise Robin would die? Don shuddered at the thought. _It didn't happen...so stop thinking about it._

And now, with the photo, Don knew that Claymore wasn't going to go away. Everybody knew that Don wasn't responsible for what had happened and that Don had lived. Claymore had failed in his goals, in 'ruining' Don's life—at least in Claymore's view. The FBI couldn't provide protection for Don and Robin indefinitely, or even probably for much longer. Don didn't think that David and his team were any closer to locating Claymore. It meant that they needed to end this, somehow. The most logical way was to try to draw Claymore out, using Don as bait. Make Claymore come to him to finish what he'd started. It wasn't without risk...particularly as Claymore had shown himself to be a forward thinker and planner. He was intelligent and they couldn't underestimate just how intelligent. They could only hope that they'd covered all their bases and could force Claymore to react more emotionally than logically, and therefore possibly make mistakes.

"Michael Claymore?" Alan repeated. "Who is he? Is he the man behind all this, who forced you to hurt Robin and Liz?"

Don nodded. "Yeah, Dad, I think he is."

"Is he someone you arrested?"

"Yes—no," Don amended. "We never had enough evidence to charge him, though we knew he did it."

"Then why would he go after you like this?"

"I don't know, Dad. Maybe David has figured that out."

Don did remember that Claymore's parents, while shocked and upset, had seemed to have accepted what their son had done pretty readily. Too readily. It had been almost a token denial, rather than a genuine one. Something about their son had made them think that he could be capable of hurting other people. Don had a feeling that they might not have wanted to have anything to do with their son once he'd been released from custody. And Claymore had had a girlfriend, who Don knew for a fact had said that she wanted nothing to do with him. He could have lost all the love and support that he'd had in his life. And out of Don's team, Don was the one who had a steady girlfriend, who had family that was close by and he was close to. That and being the leader, maybe that was why Claymore had chosen to try to ruin his life. Why now, that Don didn't know—but there'd be some kind of trigger, of that Don was certain.

It had also been a case that had gotten under Don's skin, especially when he'd had to deal with the victims. One couple had been married for ten years, and neither had been able to even look at the other, let alone be in three feet of each other. Not being able to get any sort of justice for the victims or take out the sick son of a bitch had rankled more than normal, particularly given how smug and unconcerned Claymore had been throughout the entire process. Claymore had really gotten under his skin and it had led to more than a few arguments with Liz at the time. That suddenly clicked—Claymore had seen or sensed something that indicated that Don was seeing Liz. Don didn't think that his past relationship with Liz had come up in conversation at any point at his or Robin's places in the last few months. It had been one aspect that he had been confused by, as Claymore had known about Liz.

Alan kept on shooting Don concerned glances, but left him alone. David and Colby finally arrived some time later.

"Don," David said, nodding to Alan as he came through the door.

"Don," Colby also said, putting his hand out and clasping Don's briefly. Don hadn't seen either Colby or Nikki, they hadn't come to the hospital or visited him at the house. Considering how hard he knew his team was working, he had decided not to read anything into it. And looking at Colby, he knew he was right not to.

"Where's the photo?" David asked, looking around the room.

"On the table," Don answered, pointing at it. "There's a postmark on the envelope, might give you something to trace." David moved over to the table and leaned over to study the photo. "I remember him taking that," Don said quietly.

David looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah? You didn't remember that before."

"No, I didn't," Don agreed. "I've remembered a lot more. Michael Claymore."

From the looks on both Colby and David's faces, he was right. Some part of him that he didn't know was tensed relaxed at the confirmation that he was right. He'd been drugged, the slowly returning bits and pieces of recollection had not felt entirely reliable, like maybe he'd just substituted a face he did remember onto the man that attacked them.

"Just to clarify," David started, "you're saying that the man who took this photo, who forced you to hurt Robin and Liz, was Michael Claymore."

"Yes."

"You remember his face?" David persisted.

"Yes."

"Good." David did look a bit relieved. "We don't need your identification, we've got enough evidence, but anything else that shores up the case is useful."

"None of us wants to give him even a tiny chance of getting away with it," Colby added.

"I'm going to speak to the ADIC about upping your protection again, this should be enough to get him agree that there's still a clear threat."

Don shook his head emphatically. "No, David. No."

"No?" Alan said, his voice disbelieving. "No? Don, this man is threatening you. Who knows what else he'll do."

"Dad—"

"You are not risking your life," Alan said angrily, "not on some macho stunt. You haven't even been cleared to go back to work on light duties, how are you going to be able to protect yourself?"

Don put his hand up, trying to stop the tirade. He got why his dad was scared and angry, but his dad didn't understand. "And how long do you think they'll keep the protection up, huh, Dad? This guy is smart, he thinks ahead. He's patient. He's going to wait until they withdraw the protection and then he'll strike." Don pointed at the table. "This was to warn me he's still out there, but he's not going to try anything until there's no one protecting me."

"David?" Alan appealed. The FBI agents shifted uncomfortably; they all knew that what Don said was likely true.

"He's right, Alan," Colby finally acknowledged. "Unfortunately our best bet is going to be making him _think_ that we've backed off and hope that he'll go after Don again. We haven't been able to track him down, he's gone to ground. And I doubt that the postmark is going to help us much. Although, he's not likely to attack so quickly, now that he's sent this photo. He's not stupid."

"This all assumes that the ADIC goes for it," David said. "And you need to be healed enough to be able to handle yourself. None of us like it, but you're right. It's better that he attack when we can control it than when we can't."

Alan's jaw clenched as he shook his head rapidly. "Fine," he spat out. "But if Don gets hurt, don't expect to set foot in this house again."

"Dad, come on," Don entreated, as Alan turned his back, dismissing them with a disgusted wave and left the room. Don rolled his eyes at his team. "He'll come around, he always does."

"The thing I'm wondering," Colby said lightly, a glint of humour shining through, "is whether you were included in that ban, Don?"

"Yeah, I'd like to see him try," Don said sourly, rubbing a finger across his bottom lip. "Charlie owns the house."

"Anyway, this has to wait for at least another week or two, until you're more physically able and to make Claymore believe that we really have withdrawn your protection."

"Yeah, that's fine," Don replied to David.

He'd tell them about the other half of his plan later, after he'd seen where things stood with Robin and talked to her. There was one thing that he could imagine pushing all of Claymore's buttons, assuming he was right on the man's motivations for coming after him. It might force him to not be as careful and act before he was really ready. The only thing that Don didn't like about the idea was that it would put Robin in more danger...but then, they were both being threatened. Removing the threat was the only answer.

TBC...


	23. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"You seem...different today."

Don turned away from the window and looked at Bradford. "Yeah? I feel it." He went back to the chair opposite Bradford and sat down on the edge of it, leaning over his knees. He thought about how to describe how he felt. "It's like... It's like something switched on in my head and I'm...me, I guess, again. I feel like an FBI agent again."

"In control."

Don smiled slightly. It always came back to that. "In control," he agreed. "Claymore—I know now that it was Michael Claymore—he sent me a photo of Robin and me on the sofa, on that day. It-it made me angry." He shook his head, glanced down at his watch. The anger had been with him since he'd seen the photo, never leaving. "He was still controlling my life. I'm not going to let him any more."

"That's good," Bradford said encouragingly, laying his pen on the pad of paper resting on his lap, but Don could sense that there was a big 'but' looming.

"But?"

"But," Bradford said seriously, "you may go back to how you were feeling, tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I'm not saying you will, but I don't want you to be in a _worse_ situation, if it happens, because you didn't know that it could."

Don absently rested his chin on his hand. Bradford had a point. Being hit with the depression and the self-hatred full force and without knowing it might happen again, he didn't think he'd react well. He did not want to be back at rock bottom again.

"That said, you're probably going to have moments where it all seems too much, anyway."

"Joy," Don murmured.

"Welcome to the healing process. You just need to remember to ask for help when it gets too much and remind yourself that you'll get back out of the valley up onto the plain, if not to the mountains."

Don had to smirk at the metaphor. "Do you stay up all night thinking of those?"

Bradford just gave him an enigmatic smile in return. "You ready to see Robin again?"

Don's stomach lurched at the thought and he sprang out of his seat, looking around for Bradford's baseball.

"I don't know," he admitted softly, once he had located the ball and had it in his hands. "You know those thoughts that'd go through your head before you ask someone out on a date—will she say yes, what if she says no, what if she laughs in my face and the feeling you get," he grimaced, pointing at his stomach, "in your gut? This is about a thousand times worse and I'm wondering whether she'll even be able to bear the sight of me." There was a lump in his throat, all his fear and worry trying to escape. "There's so much more at stake." He took a deep breath. "I love her."

"This isn't going to be hard just for her. You're probably going to experience flashbacks, some repulsion at touching her, once you get that far. You'll probably also find that it'll take a while for the arousal to come back, or for you not to feel ashamed if you do get aroused."

"You're assuming a lot," Don said, a little flushed from what Bradford had so matter-of-factly said. Part of him did worry whether he'd ever be turned on by Robin again, after what he'd been through and the disgust he'd felt.

"I like to think positive, and you seem to do better with more information, not less. Only you and Robin can dictate how fast you move and I don't want you to be thrown for a loop if something like that happens and you weren't aware of the possibility. That'll do more damage and you don't need more damage."

"No, I really don't," Don agreed. He decided to share one of his biggest worries. "There's...there's something that I can't help wondering, now I know that it was Claymore. What we'd investigated him for—he'd break into couple's houses and force the man to rape the woman."

"You're wondering why he didn't force you," Bradford concluded.

"Yeah." Don kept his eyes downcast, rolling the baseball in his hand.

"You're a federal agent and it seems fairly clear that his intention was to ruin your reputation and relationships before possibly killing you. If he'd tried forcing you and you said no, it would destroy the control he had over you. It would have destroyed his fantasy. He couldn't take that risk."

"I don't know whether I would have said no," Don admitted quietly, feeling some of that self-hatred come back. The idea of being forced to rape somebody repulsed him, made him feel disgusted, but if a life was at stake, could he do it? If a life was at stake, was it the right thing to do?

"I don't think anyone can say what we'd do in that situation, particularly when it's not just your life on the line, it's somebody else's. All I can suggest is to try not to think about it. It didn't happen, so there's no point."

"Easier said than done," Don muttered.

The phone on Bradford's desk rang and he got up to answer it. "Excuse me."

"Go ahead." Odds on it was something about his meeting with Robin. Don's gut tied further into knots and he felt his heart start to pound from the adrenaline and fear. His palms were getting sweaty. Make or break time. His whole future rested on this. _This is it._

"All right, send her in in three minutes. Thank you." Bradford hung up the phone and turned back to Don. "You ready for this?"

"Sure." The word didn't convince Don, let alone Bradford, who looked at him intently. Probably evaluating whether he was really ready or whether this would send him spiralling backwards to suicide.

"Just remember, you get too uncomfortable or anxious and we can end this session. The same will go for Robin. You're both going to be uncomfortable, you're both probably going to have some physical responses to seeing each other."

"Okay." Don nodded gamely, knowing that he did sound more than a little scared. He put Bradford's baseball back on its pedestal, almost knocking it off again in his nervousness.

 _Just breathe and calm down. You made it through training, you made it through your first arrest, your first hostage situation. You've made it this far. You can do this._ He took a steadying breath, although it didn't do much.

There was a knock at the door and Don jumped slightly. Bradford eyed him with some amusement before answering the door.

"Come in, Robin. Remember, you can leave at any time if it gets to be too much."

"Thank you," Robin said as she stepped into the room.

Her eyes darted around before landing on him. He felt like he was about to throw up and completely unsure of what he should do. Almost immediately she looked away, clearly uncomfortable, her arms folded defensively in front of her. She was dressed in black slacks and a dark blue turtle-neck sweater. Don knew that she preferred skirts or dresses on the whole, so the slacks was probably to cover herself up more fully—a result of what happened. Her hair was up, probably held by one of the clips she was so fond of.

Don's voice failed him when he first opened his mouth to speak. He didn't remember ever being this nervous. The look to his watch was compulsive. When he lifted his eyes again, Robin was looking at him, worrying her lower lip slightly between her teeth. Robin's psychologist had joined Bradford off to the side of the room.

"Hi," Don said softly, after clearing his throat.

"Hi." She dropped her gaze, unable to look at him for more than a few moments. The hurt stabbed through him, keener than pretty much anything he'd ever felt, other than his mother's death.

"Why don't you both sit down?" Bradford interjected.

Robin looked to Don, seeing what he thought, her own expression undecided. Sitting would seem more relaxed, less threatening. It was probably a better option than standing.

"Yeah, okay."

Robin followed his lead, taking a seat opposite him, a few feet safety zone between them. She sat on the edge of her chair, ready to escape at any moment, hands clenched together tightly in her lap.

They sat in silence, neither ready to speak or really knowing what could be said, or should be said. Don remembered the conversation he'd had with Bradford about what he could say to Robin, but sorry still felt inadequate for all that had happened.

"Don, have you got anything you want to say to Robin?"

Don rubbed his hand across his chin, looked at his watch, and then down at his now dangling hands. "Yeah." He looked up again, feeling a lump start to build up in his throat again. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, eyes starting to tear. He breathed out in a sigh, trying to get the waterworks under control. It would be really nice when he got his barriers in place again. "I'm so sorry, Robin." The words left him feeling raw and exposed...and he'd never meant them more in his entire life. Robin's eyes were beginning to shine with tears and he could see that she was also trying to contain the emotions, stamp them out.

"I didn't want to hurt you," Don continued, dropping his gaze briefly, "or scare you. It killed me to do it, to see that you thought it was me. I'm just...I'm so sorry." Don sniffed and wiped at his eyes, knowing that at any second he was about to lose it. He hated feeling this out of control, even if Robin was— _had_ been—one of the few people in his life whom he'd let see it.

Robin nodded jerkily, swallowing hard before abruptly standing and rushing out of the room, followed by her psychologist.

 _Fuck._

Don felt numb. All the hope, all the holding on, and everything had fallen apart. They weren't going to get over it, they couldn't. She couldn't even hear anything beyond an apology.

 _Why are you surprised? You put her through hell,_ a voice whispered in his head.

He almost found himself agreeing, before he realised what he was doing. _That wasn't me. That wasn't my choice. I didn't want to do it. That should make a difference, surely?_

"Don. Hey, Don."

It took him a few seconds to realise that Bradford was trying to get his attention and focus back on the world outside his own head.

Bradford's eyes narrowed and he nodded knowingly. "You think that it's over, that this means that you and Robin are through."

All Don could do was bob his head in acknowledgement, he couldn't speak. His throat was so tight that it was a little hard to believe that he was still breathing.

"It's not. Don, this isn't something that's going to be fixed easily. Both of you are coming into this with a lot of baggage. It's going to take time, and believe it or not," Bradford smiled slightly, "though I'd really rather you did believe it, this was a good start."

A good start. It certainly didn't feel like it. Don frowned as he thought about what Bradford had said. He trusted Bradford, and he did mostly seem to know what he was talking about. Maybe Don's expectations had been too high. He'd hoped to see something that would indicate that Robin still loved him, that she still cared about him, despite everything that had happened. A look or a word. But maybe that was too much to expect yet. He hadn't thought that she wouldn't be able to say more than 'hi' to him.

He looked up at Bradford, hoping and pleading for reassurance and feeling ashamed that he was doing so. "It was a good start?"

Bradford nodded emphatically. "It was. The next meeting might be a little easier."

 _The next meeting..._

* * *

"The director didn't go for it," Don guessed, in between sips of coffee, watching Agent Steel follow his father into the kitchen.

"Uh, he did actually."

Don turned to David in surprise. He'd presumed that the director hadn't, as Don's protection—and likely Robin's too—had been upped again. An agent watching in the house. Oh, joy. He had new sympathy for the people that he had protected, or insisted had protection, over the years. Even if the agent kept to themselves and tried to stay out of the way, invisible, it still felt intrusive. Like every word you said had to be censored. He suddenly remembered when Charlie had to be protected, although at least he'd had David and Colby—friends as well as agents. It wasn't feasible for Don's team to be doing the bulk of his protection, they needed to be doing their jobs and finding Claymore. Plus working on whatever other cases had fallen across their desks. Add in the fact that Don was a more senior agent, and he felt like he had to censor himself even more.

"You received a threat, Don. It would look suspicious if we didn't put more protection in place. But we're also starting covert surveillance, so when it's lowered again the surveillance is already in place. There'll be less of a chance of him spotting something then."

Don inclined his head. That did make sense. He took another sip of his coffee. "Time frame?"

David shifted his head from side to side in a sort of shrug. "A few weeks. Unless, say, you decide to have a somewhat public blow out about your protection and we're forced to lower it earlier."

Don's lips curled briefly into a smile. It might be cathartic to completely lose his shit at another agent, although he didn't think he could do it now. He needed to be a bit stronger, in every way.

"I'll keep it in mind."

"How'd the meeting with Robin go?"

The concern on David's face was genuine, but Don still scowled in annoyance. He didn't like being asked the question, and he had been a few times already since the meeting.

"Fine, according to Bradford."

David winced. "That good, huh?"

Don sighed. "It'll take time," he parodied. "You staying for dinner?"

David looked at his watch, scratching the side of his nose with his other hand.

"Hey, that one's mine," Don said dryly, indicating his head at David's watch when he looked at Don, puzzled. Don turned his own wrist, mimicking the gesture, before bringing his cup to his lips.

"Ah," David finally comprehended, smiling. "Nah, I better get going."

"You sure? What are you going to do, go home and microwave something for dinner?"

"Okay," David gave in, raising an open hand, fingers spread out in defeat. "You need to let your dad know? That's assuming he'll even let me stay."

"Yeah, and it'll be fine," Don said. He knew that David was thinking about the incident that morning. "I haven't been hurt yet." He raised his voice to a shout. "Hey, Dad! David's staying for dinner."

"What's one more?" was the equally loud answer from the kitchen. "You better get in here and peel the carrots then."

David looked at Don with an unsure and bemused expression. "He mean me or you?"

"I meant you, Donnie," came the disembodied voice from the kitchen. "David's got the potatoes."

"Welcome to Chez Eppes," Don said with a grin. "We better get in there before he deafens poor Steel."

"I wonder what he's got him doing," David muttered as they both got up.

TBC...


	24. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 24

Chapter 24

This time Robin had left her hair out, and it fell loosely around her face. She even gave Don a small smile as she sat across from him and said a soft, "Hi." A strong surge of love and attraction swelled through him, catching him off balance. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled back and said, "Hi" in reply. He caught her look of wonder, of surprise, and wondered whether she'd had a similar experience.

"I'm sorry, about yesterday," Robin said, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

"That's okay," Don said, with a half-shrug. "It's not like you didn't have every reason to freak out."

She stared at him, frowning. "I can't imagine what it was like for you, being forced to do those things, knowing that we'd all think that you wanted to do them." The frown deepened. "Having to hide from us that you didn't want to do it."

"I threw up, after I left your room...after I-I—" He closed his eyes, telling himself to hold it together. He opened them straight away again with a shocked indrawn breath. His mind had supplied the image for the words he couldn't get out, an image from the video that Claymore had tortured him with.

 _"Tell her she tastes salty."_

He let his head fall, bringing his hands up in a prayer-like position to meet his mouth, concentrating on his breathing. Robin right there in front of him, while he saw what he'd done to her, it had shaken him.

"Don, you want a break?" Bradford asked, all concern, from his spot at the side of the room.

Don drew himself back together, trying to put the image out of his mind.

"No, I'm fine." His voice sounded a little rough, like he was anything but and calling him a liar. He was fine—it just depended on your definition of fine.

"Do you want to tell Robin what just happened?" Bradford asked.

Apparently it was important that he share what happened, from his point of view, and how he felt with Robin, that they both did it so they'd have a better understanding of what the other went through and the consequences and after effects it had brought. However, in this case, and probably many more, Don couldn't tell her the whole truth. He didn't want her to know about Claymore forcing him to watch the video over and over again and what Claymore had done while Don was watching it. It was an added humiliation she didn't need.

She was already living with the knowledge that somebody had taped her while having sex and while going through one of the most humiliating and terrifying experiences of her life. That other people had seen those videos. Don was still trying to deal with that himself, with David's words from when Don had still been in the hospital. How many people had seen the videos? When it went to court— _if_ it went to court—even more people would see the videos and Don would have to detail everything. If it came to that, Don would tell Robin before the trial. But he had a feeling it wouldn't get that far. For one, Don wasn't sure what he would do if he encountered Claymore. And for two, he had a feeling that Claymore was not going to just quietly and calmly let himself be arrested.

"It was a flashback," Don said, straightening himself in his seat. "To when—" He stalled out again and let his eyes blink slowly. "To when he forced me to lick your neck."

Robin shuddered, revulsion on her face, and reached up to rub at her neck.

"How did you feel, Robin?" Dr Holcombe, Robin's psychologist, asked.

Her hand stilled, covering the area that he'd violated.

"Disgusted...terrified and sick." She sighed. "And then you left and I just cried and cried. I still...it was you." Her expression was slightly pained, her brow furrowed. "I couldn't understand how I'd missed it, how you could," her voice broke slightly, "hurt me. And I knew that you could come back. And maybe then you really would...rape and kill me." She rubbed at her arms. "I couldn't escape, I tried, but the bed was too well made. I was so cold."

Don looked down. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault." There was silence for a few seconds. "And you were the one who ended up shot. Who got really hurt."

"Yeah, well, I deserved it." Don kicked himself as soon as the muttered words were out of his mouth. That was another thing that was high on his priority list of things Robin didn't need to know. But the Pandora's box had now been opened.

"What? No," Robin denied, her confused expression turning into horror. "Don, what are you talking about?"

He raised his gaze again, looking seriously at her. "I wanted to die, Robin. I knew that Liz was going to shoot me, and I did nothing to stop it. I wanted her to. And then when I woke up in the hospital..." He shrugged and looked to the side, not wanting to see the tears that were starting to slide down Robin's cheeks. To see how he was hurting her, again. It was all that he seemed to do: hurt people.

"You still wanted to die."

"Yeah," he admitted.

"You haven't tried to do anything, have you?" Robin asked hesitantly. When he didn't answer, she said, dread in her voice, "Oh God. You have. When?"

"The day that you came back to LA," Don said softly, still avoiding looking at her.

"The day..." Robin huffed out a breath of air. "I was coming back and you tried to kill yourself."

"Technically, I didn't try to kill myself. I didn't swallow any of the pills." And there he went again. Like that was going to make her feel better. _You're trying to get her back, you idiot_ , he berated himself. "And I didn't know you were coming back. I was asleep when you called."

"That's meant to make me feel better?" Robin asked incredulously.

"No, of course not." Don rubbed his hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't imagine what you went through, how terrified you were, how horrible it was to think that I wanted to hurt you. You can't understand how bad it was for me. It felt like I'd lost everything. I wanted to die," he shook his head with a shrug, "but I still couldn't kill myself, even though I felt like there was _nothing_ left worth living for."

"Do you still want to die?" Her words were clipped and her gaze steady on him, despite the tears drying on her face.

"Right now, I'd really like to sink through the floor, but, no, I don't want to die."

"Good." She looked away, her gaze distant, before focussing back on him. "Look, Don, I think we should end this session now. I need a couple of days to...to process this."

His stomach sunk. "Okay, no, that's—that's fine. Take all the time you need."

"It's a lot to take in," she said, her voice gentle. "Think about how you'd feel if you'd just heard me say the same thing."

"I understand. It's fine, Robin." And he did understand. But he had to wonder whether she'd come to the conclusion that she didn't want to try to repair things with someone who was so obviously broken.

"I love you, Don." Her voice wobbled and she drew in a shaky breath. "Despite everything that's happened, I still love you. We're just both going to need time."

"I love you, too," he said quietly to her retreating back.

* * *

Don walked out of the kitchen into a scene from a nightmare. His hand automatically went to his hip, but he didn't have his gun. He wasn't back at work yet, he didn't have his gun. He needed his gun.

"Ah, the guest of honour has arrived!" Claymore said gleefully, standing near the front door, his gun pointed at Robin's head. She was trembling in terror, her face covered in tears, her hands grasping the arm he had around her throat.

 _Where the hell is the agent?_ There should have been an agent in the house, there should have been one outside, and the covert surveillance; Claymore shouldn't have been able to just walk into Charlie's house. Don frantically looked around the room, and there was the agent who'd been guarding him, on the floor, blood forming a pool around him. Don gasped, staggering to lean against the wall, his world feeling like it was coming to an end. Charlie and his dad were also on the floor. Charlie had been shot in the head. His dad had two blood stains on his chest. They were both so still. They were both dead. They were dead. Claymore let go of Robin and shoved her forward, before bringing the gun up.

"No!" Don shouted, stumbling forward, trying to do something, anything to stop it. But he couldn't and there was a bang and she crumpled to the floor in front of him, head turned slightly to the side, eyes staring at him blankly. He stared at her body for a few seconds, unable to believe it. Claymore was aiming the gun at him now, and there was no more point, everybody he loved was gone. "What are you waiting for?" he screamed, throwing his arms open wide. "Just shoot me!"

Don woke with a jerk, soaked in sweat, the sheet tangled around him. His heart was pounding. _Just a nightmare. An incredibly real feeling nightmare._ It was something he'd started to worry about, his presence putting his dad and Charlie at risk. Apparently his dreams had gotten hold of that fear. And his fear that Robin would be hurt. He kicked at the sheet, loosening it from around his body, and sat up, resting his face in his hands. His body hadn't quite realised that it was all a dream yet, adrenaline still flooding his system. He needed a drink. _You're not allowed to drink,_ he reminded himself. The reasoning not to was sound...but at that moment he couldn't care less. There was something to be said for the blissfulness of getting drunk. He could hate himself all he wanted in the morning, right now he needed it. And he was starting to get sick of not having any say in what he did. He'd been doing everything that everybody else had told him to do, didn't he get a say at some point?

He got up, ignoring the need for shoes, and left his room. A strong urge to know that what he'd dreamed wasn't true caused him to crack his dad's door open a little and glance in. Alan was asleep in bed; everything was fine. He shut the door quietly again and walked downstairs. Fortune favoured him, Agent McNamara was in the kitchen, he could see the light coming from under the door. The beer would be in there, but Don knew that his dad kept some of the harder stuff separate in a cabinet. Much quicker way to get drunk and less likely for somebody to interrupt him before he got there. Unless it was another thing that his dad had moved due to Don's suicidal tendencies.

Luckily he hadn't and Don was soon on his way to sweet oblivion, sitting on the couch, his bare feet up on the coffee table. It didn't take him long to feel buzzed, his tolerance lowered with his tiredness, the painkillers he was still on, and the time since dinner. He kept on drinking. The door to the kitchen swung open and Fiona McNamara came out, book in hand. Don had only ever dealt with her peripherally, but he knew that she was somebody who scared some of the male agents with her skills in hand to hand and her tendency to fight dirty. And to not mince words. There had been one agent who she hadn't scared off, and that was Brian McNamara. They'd been married for a couple of years.

"Agent Eppes," she said, slightly startled, but recovering quickly.

"McNamara," Don replied, raising his glass to her. There was only a slight slur.

She looked at him with disapproval when he poured more into the glass and swallowed it.

"Should you be drinking?"

"Prob'ly not. Well, tha's what my shrink says, anyways. Screw him, 's my life."

McNamara just looked at him like she was thinking about coming over and wrestling the glass and bottle off him. He knew that she wouldn't, particularly with how junior an agent she was compared to him. Assault wouldn't look good on her record—he had every right to drink and she had none to stop him.

"What y-you goin' to do to stop me?" Don challenged her.

"I have enough of cleaning up after my two year old, Agent Eppes, I don't need to be cleaning up after you when you go puking that all back up." She gave a slightly evil grin. "That's what _your_ dad is for."

"Go 'head," Don said, ignoring her as she walked up to the second storey. He made the most of the time it took for her to wake his dad. He was sick and tired of being screwed over by everyone and everything. It was 'Don, go to physical therapy and do your exercises' and 'Don, you need to talk about this' and 'Don, it'd be a good idea if you didn't drink'. It was time he got to make choices. Claymore had taken that away from him and everybody else was helping Claymore keep it away.

Don got out of his seat, leaving the bottle and glass behind, and went to the front door. It took two attempts to get it open and he stumbled out onto the driveway. He didn't notice that it was cold and rough under his bare feet.

"What 're you waiting for, Claymore? 'm here. Come an' get me," he shouted into the night.

"Don."

The voice was right behind him and somebody was grabbing his arm. He whirled around, automatically hitting out, defending himself against the threat. It wasn't until the person had backed away, cowering slightly, hand to his face, that Don realised that it was Charlie.

"Oh... God, Charlie."

He'd hit Charlie. He had to get out of there, before he screwed anything else up, before he hurt anyone else. Turning, he started to run, only to be tackled from behind and pressed to the ground. The impact winded him and jarred his shoulder, causing pain to radiate out from it. He grunted.

"Oh, no you don't. Sorry, Agent Eppes, but this is for your own good. You want to put a reprimand in my file, go ahead."

McNamara kept her knee on his back for a few moments longer before removing it and replacing it with her hand.

"We need to get you back into the house. You think you can stand?"

He got his hands and knees underneath him, and took her offered hand, making it to his feet with only a slight wobble. Then he threw up.

"Donnie! Agent McNamara, I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay, Mr Eppes. I have a two year old girl, it's not the first time I've been thrown up on. And I did tackle him, that probably triggered it."

* * *

Alan was swinging between feeling sorry for Don and being angry with him. Just when he'd think that Don had finally stopped heaving and maybe they could get him to bed, he'd start again. Then there'd been the tears, although those had been thankfully few, and the repeated apologies, not just for hitting Charlie and causing a drama that night, but for things from the past. Some real slights and fights, but some that Alan was fairly sure didn't exist anywhere but in Don's head.

Don rested his head on his arms with a groan.

"You need a hand with anything, Mr Eppes?"

"No, no, we're okay, thank you," Alan replied to Agent McNamara, glancing back to see that Amita had managed to find a pair of sweat pants for McNamara that fit. And some socks. The shoes they couldn't do anything about, but McNamara had said that she'd be able to clean them enough to use them after they dried. "How's Charlie?" He'd had to trust Charlie's care to Amita and McNamara, he had his hands full with Don.

"He's going to have a hell of a shiner, but he'll be fine. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks," Alan said as she left. Don took that as his cue to begin heaving again. When he finally collapsed back onto the floor, head leaning on his arms on the edge of the toilet seat, Alan flushed the toilet.

Don raised his head, looking confused, and put his hand up to his left ear. He then tried to push up off the floor.

"Woah, where're you going?"

"I have to go," Don said, agitated. "If I don't, he'll kill Robin."

It took a second for Alan to figure out what was going on. "Don, it's okay. Robin's fine. She's not in danger."

Don's brow furrowed. "She's not?" he repeated.

"She's not. You're at home. It's okay, nobody's going to hurt you or Robin."

Don was still looking around the room, his confusion not having abated. But then he focussed back on Alan and Alan could see when he finally realised where he was. "You with me, Don?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding a little dazed.

"Was that a flashback?"

"Yeah, I think—" Don didn't finish the sentence, leaning back over the toilet instead to continue throwing up.

It was going to be a long night.

TBC...


	25. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The hours, for Don, passed in a blur of the bathroom floor and the toilet bowl and apologising over and over again. Then he was waking up in his bed with a groan and slamming his eyes shut again straight away when the light made his head throb. He felt terrible, and not just his stomach and head. The soles of his feet were sore, his knuckles felt a little raw, and his shoulder was definitely making itself known.

"You're awake."

He groaned again. "Charlie, not so loud," he whispered, covering his face with his arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry, aren't you feeling well?" Charlie asked, even louder, his tone completely unsympathetic. "I wonder why that'd be?"

Don was starting to remember exactly why that was. And deciding that he really didn't want to remember. He lowered his arm slightly and risked opening his eyes, whimpering when the light still hurt. A few seconds and his eyes had adjusted a bit, allowing him to at least see, even though it still felt like somebody was stabbing an ice pick into his brain. He looked at Charlie, sitting in a chair near his bed, and groaned again.

Charlie had a black eye. Don had given Charlie a black eye. _Dad is going to kill me._ The only reason why he wouldn't have the previous night would be because Don wasn't aware enough to realise why exactly his life was coming to a rather unfortunate and abrupt end. Don closed his eyes with another whimper and moved his arm back completely over his face. He was so screwed.

"Wondering whether last night was such a good idea?"

Don didn't deign to answer. The previous night had been a _very_ bad idea. Although the actual process of getting drunk had been good. The punching Charlie, getting tackled and throwing up repeatedly had been bad.

"Dad called to push your physical therapy appointment back, and your session with Bradford."

That left him wondering how late it was. And why Charlie was still at home. _Because you gave him a black eye, you idiot._ "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Eleven thirty."

Wow, it was late. He stifled another groan. It felt like the worst hangover he'd ever had.

"Here." Charlie was much closer, sounding more sympathetic, and nudging something against his hand. "Your painkillers. Might help with your head too."

He sat up enough that he'd be able to drink and took the proffered glass and pill. The water hitting his stomach was not a pleasant feeling, but he closed his eyes for a few seconds, willing it to stay there and it did.

"You taken something," he grunted, gesturing with his chin at Charlie's eye. He knew from experience that it would hurt. Not as much as his head was currently killing him, but definitely enough to require painkillers.

"Yeah."

"Sorry." Don kept his head angled down, peeking up to see Charlie's reaction.

"I got that idea last night," Charlie said dryly. "It's not okay, and I'd really rather you never did it again, but you're forgiven."

"However," Alan interrupted from the doorway, his eyebrows lowered disapprovingly, "you're not forgiven for putting the jello crystals in the koi pond when you were nine."

"Oh, man," Don whined, "I spilled about that last night?"

"No, actually, but it's nice to finally have confirmation. I was fairly certain it was you." Alan smiled at him as Don huffed out a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. Then groaned and brought his hand up to his head. His head wasn't up to being shaken. Or laughing. It felt like it was going to explode.

"I kinda remember that, you blamed me," Charlie said to Don.

"I ended up having to punish you both, as you both denied that you'd done it and I didn't have any proof either way."

"I don't think you have the moral high ground, Charlie," Don said, rubbing gingerly at his eyes. "Remember when you tried to blow them up?"

"That was an accident. What did you do, trip and accidentally dump the jello crystals into the pond?" Charlie retorted.

Don had to concede. Even if he felt like arguing, he really was not up to it. "I was a kid."

The ringtone of Charlie's phone suddenly started up elsewhere in the house. It was annoying and wasn't helping Don's head to feel any better.

"My phone," Charlie said, rushing from the room.

That left Don alone with his dad. He shifted slightly on the bed, uncomfortable. What did you say to the parent who'd made sure you didn't fall face first into the toilet?

"I don't need a lecture," Don warned him, deciding to go on the offensive.

"I wasn't going to give you one," Alan answered mildly. "Do I need to hide all the alcohol too?"

"No." Don wasn't intending to get that plastered again. He'd had his rebellion, now he'd be a good little Fed and obey what his doctor and Bradford said.

"You up to eating something?"

The mere thought of food made his stomach turn over queasily and he grimaced in distaste. "See how I am after a shower."

"Okay then," Alan said, turning to leave the room.

"Dad." Don stopped him. "Thank you."

Alan nodded seriously in reply, before leaving him alone.

He'd just headed downstairs after his shower, feeling marginally more alive and his head throbbing less, when there was a knock at the door. Seeing as he was nearby, he answered it, having to squint at the brightness of the sunlight. Colby and Nikki were standing on the doorstep. Don opened the door wide enough for them to come in and left them to it. He needed coffee.

"Hey, Boss..." Nikki started, trailing off when he turned his back on them. "Guess we'll just let ourselves in." He didn't need to see them to know that Nikki was probably giving Colby a 'what's up with him' look and gesture and Colby was probably shrugging in reply.

Charlie appeared. "Oh, hey, they're here. I was going to tell you that they were coming...they're a bit earlier than I expected."

Don rubbed at a tight muscle in the back of his neck. "Whatever."

"Hey, Charlie," Colby said. His voice suddenly rose in pitch. "What happened to your face?"

 _Oh, shit_. Don had kind of forgotten about that, although how he'd been able to with Charlie standing right in front of him, he didn't know. He blamed the hangover.

"Did someone hit you?" Nikki asked, sounding outraged.

"Yeah, I did."

Don's calm reply had both Colby and Nikki boggling at him.

"You gave your brother a black eye?" Nikki clearly couldn't believe it.

Charlie put a hand up in a calming gesture. "Not on purpose."

There had been nothing unintentional about the punch Don had thrown at Charlie. Don found himself kind of enjoying how freaked out Colby and Nikki both looked. "Yeah, Charlie. I did hit you on purpose."

"You hit Charlie on _purpose_?" Nikki's voice couldn't get any higher.

"You're making it sound worse than it is," Charlie accused Don. He looked at the other two agents and continued hurriedly, "No, he didn't. Well, he wouldn't have if he'd realised it was me."

"Will one of you just explain what the hell is going on?" Colby finally exploded.

Don pointed his thumb in Charlie's direction. "He can. I'm getting coffee."

"Thanks, Don," Charlie said sarcastically as Don abandoned him for the kitchen.

After Don had pushed through the swinging door, he allowed a small grin to develop. Messing with his team's minds, that never got old. It wasn't something he did very often, but it was fun when he did.

The first sip of coffee almost made him moan in ecstasy. He could still hear the conversation going on in the other room. Colby said something that Don hadn't wanted to say but was true: Charlie had been stupid to grab his arm like that with no real warning and where Don couldn't see him. Particularly right after Don had called Claymore out. Charlie was lucky that Don hadn't reacted worse, and in one way lucky that Don had been drunk. There hadn't been quite as much force and aim behind the punch as there would have been if he'd been sober.

Nikki looked at him with a smirk when he walked back into the room. "Don't say a word, Betancourt," Don warned her with a raised finger.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Boss."

He gave her a sour look. The fact that she hadn't stopped smirking belied her words. He sank down in the chair he'd sat in the previous night, feet back up on the table, and rested his forehead on his hand. There were small scrapes on the soles of his feet from the driveway and bruises on his knees from when he had been tackled. The bruises he'd only discovered in the shower. He did his best to ignore the other agents and Charlie as he continued drinking his coffee. While he wasn't looking, he could almost feel the concerned glances that Charlie was throwing him.

"Why don't we continue this in the garage?" Charlie finally said. They moved on, leaving him in peace.

* * *

"David, you're not going to believe this," Colby said with a grin, leaning on the edge of David's cubicle.

"Really not believe this," Nikki agreed as she went to her desk and hung her jacket over the back of her chair.

David turned away from his computer screen with a bemused smile, wondering what had them both so amused. They'd only been to Charlie's to drop off some files that they hoped that Charlie could work with. "Okay. You've got me intrigued."

"We get to Charlie's," Nikki started, "and Don answered the door. He was seriously Mr Grumpy, didn't say a single word to us, just opened the door and turned away."

"Okay," David prodded.

"Then we see Charlie," Colby continued. "And he has a black eye."

David's eyes widened. "Charlie has a black eye? How the hell did he get a black eye? Did someone hit him?" He got more outraged the more questions he asked, forgetting that Colby and Nikki had both been amused. This was not what he needed.

"That was pretty much our reaction," Nikki said. She paused for dramatic effect. "Apparently Don did it."

David rubbed his forehead, feeling a tension headache start to develop. Sometimes he thought that the entire Eppes family was going to drive him insane. "Don hit Charlie."

Colby re-told the tale, seeming to take great delight in it.

David felt a laugh bubble up through him. He shook his head and let the laugh out. "Uneventful."

"Excuse me?" Nikki said, giving him an odd look.

"Uneventful. That was what McNamara and the other agents who were watching the house last night reported. It was an uneventful night." He laughed again and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Unbelievable." Somebody had covered for Don. And David had a feeling it was McNamara, even though Don had puked on her.

"For what it's worth, it looked like he was suffering for it. Charlie said that he'd only been up for about half an hour and he'd fallen back asleep again before we left."

"He may have been hung over, but he was still messing with us," Nikki said with a roll of her eyes. "We're trying to find out what happened, Charlie's trying to explain and Don kept on interrupting and correcting Charlie and making it sound worse than it was. Then he left Charlie to actually explain what did happen."

"Oh, yeah," Colby agreed. "He definitely was messing with us. Anyway, Charlie was going to look through the data and let us know."

David nodded in acknowledgement as Colby headed off to the break-room, rapidly followed by Nikki. He looked up at the ceiling. It might have been funny, but it also worried him. Colby and Nikki didn't know that less than a week before, Don had tried to kill himself. Or tried to try to kill himself. David hadn't been able to come up with a satisfactory descriptor for what had happened.

Alan had let David know what had happened then, so he was one person who did have all the facts and somebody completely in Don's corner for when Don did come back to work. It had scared the shit out of David. Don had seemed to be doing a bit better after, even doing two amended statements. One to fill in the gaps of his assault on Robin and the assault that Claymore had put him through with the laptop and the other to add in that he remembered seeing Claymore at Robin's house and he could identify him. The first had been hard, Don had clearly struggled with telling him what had happened and David had felt sick hearing it. All three, Liz, Robin and Don, had been subjected to a sexual assault by Claymore, even if Claymore had not performed most of it personally. And Don's had arguably gone the furthest, both with the laptop and being Claymore's instrument for the other assaults.

He'd go to see Don later, reassure himself that Don wasn't slipping backwards.

* * *

"Hey, Don, wake up."

Don opened his eyes with a wide, jaw-cracking yawn. His head was at an angle and he straightened up, rotating his neck and shoulders to loosen them. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes. The sleep, although unexpected, had done him some good. His headache was down to a dull roar and his stomach felt calmer. He pulled his feet down off the table and gave his attention to Charlie. He had to smile slightly when he realised that Charlie was standing a respectful distance away and hadn't tried to shake him awake.

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"Lunch is almost ready. You feeling any better?"

"A lot, actually," Don admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. The sore muscle he'd discovered earlier was complaining more from the way his neck had been inclined.

"That's good." Charlie nodded, and shoved his hands in his pockets, shuffling slightly on the spot. Don had a bad feeling that a question he wasn't going to like was coming. "Why did you get drunk last night?" Charlie rushed the words out, like Don was more likely to answer it if his brain didn't have time to process it.

Don decided to go with the simple answer. "I had a nightmare. Claymore got into the house." He shrugged, his lips a thin line. "He'd killed you and Dad. Then he killed Robin in front of me."

"Ah," Charlie said unintelligently.

Don decided to clear the air on his proposal to Robin, knowing that Charlie probably wasn't ever going to actually ask about it. "While we're at it, I hadn't told you about proposing to Robin because you and Amita were so busy and happy planning your wedding, and then we'd sorted it out. I thought I'd wait until the real thing happened, then tell you when she'd actually said yes." His lips quirked when he thought of doing it properly. After everything, he still had hope that it would happen eventually and it still gave his stomach butterflies.

"Okay, right," Charlie said, looking at him like he didn't know what to do with him now that he'd actually volunteered information. Despite what his family thought, he did actually talk sometimes. "Well, Dad wanted me to set the table, so I better do that."

Don stood up and put his arm around Charlie's shoulders, squeezing slightly, before letting go. "I'll help." They walked over to the table. Considering the previous night, Don had to ask, "Think he'll let me have a beer?"

Charlie gave a startled laugh and Don grinned.

* * *

It felt a little like he was slinking late into class. Any minute now he'd be asked why he was late and told what his punishment was. Bradford let him settle into a seat before starting.

"How are you feeling?"

Don tried to see whether there was any underlying motive for Bradford's question—how much did he know? While Don had managed to avoid a lecture at home, he had a feeling that Bradford would be quite happy to give him one once he knew what had happened. But like so many things with Bradford, he just couldn't tell what Bradford knew. The man was always too composed, in his neat suits and with his pen and notebook, sitting calmly in his chair. He was somebody that Don found very hard to read.

"What did my dad tell you?"

"Just that you weren't feeling well."

Don made a 'hmm' sound. It surprised him that Alan hadn't let slip that he'd done it to himself.

"We need to talk about why you weren't feeling well?" Bradford asked astutely.

"I got drunk last night," Don admitted, no hint of shame in his voice or on his face. Instead, he had a small smile that challenged Bradford to tell him that what he did was wrong. "I went outside and yelled for Claymore to come and get me, punched Charlie in the face when he grabbed my arm, puked on Agent McNamara after she tackled me when I tried to run and then spent the rest of the night puking."

"And you're thinking I'm going to condemn you for it," Bradford said, still serious. "Don, you're an adult. I can tell you that it's probably not a good idea to drink, but ultimately it's your decision whether you do or not. And you who has to deal with the consequences."

Don rubbed at his lip, surprised that there hadn't been a lecture. "Yeah, I guess."

"Why did you get drunk?"

Don started out with the simple answer. "A nightmare. Claymore broke into the house, and he'd killed Dad and Charlie. Then he killed Robin in front of me."

"Was that when you woke up?"

The next part of the dream would probably just confirm what Bradford already suspected: Don was still semi-suicidal. Even if he didn't really feel it most of the time. He hopped out of his chair, agitated, and moved to the window, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "No. I told him to shoot me, then I woke up."

"Are you worried about that?"

"I think—i-if it happened, it's what I'd want," Don admitted quietly.

"Losing everybody you love, I can't honestly say that I probably wouldn't have the same reaction."

That got Don to turn and look at him, his brow furrowed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Don mulled it over as he leaned against the wall beside the window, one leg bent to rest his foot against the wall. Maybe it wasn't an unreasonable reaction after all. Maybe it didn't say anything about how badly or well he was really doing. Bradford let him stew in silence.

"It wasn't just the dream," Don said seriously, deciding to tackle the bigger issue. "Ever since—ever since that night everything's been...different."

"Different how?"

"I can't do my job," Don pulled one hand out of his pocket, gesturing around him, "I can't drive—well, I can now, but I can't drive without somebody following me, I can't drive my bike, I shouldn't drink, I should do my PT, I should talk about how I feel, what I went through." He huffed out a laugh, no humour in the sound, and ran his hand over the back of his head. That pesky word was back again. "I don't have any control over my life. Everybody's telling me what I can and can't do. I get no choice. I don't get to make the decisions." He shut his eyes and chewed slightly on the inside of his lip. "Claymore's still making the decisions for me."

"So you got drunk. You made a choice."

Don sighed and let his foot fall back to the floor. "Yeah."

"That's good, Don."

Don's eyebrows raised as he gave Bradford a disbelieving look. "Seriously?"

"You're not being passive any more, you're making your own decisions." Bradford angled his head to the side. "Not necessarily good decisions, but still decisions. The only decision you were prepared to make four days ago was to die."

The bluntness was something that Don was used to from Bradford, but it still made him wince.

"Changing the subject slightly, how did it feel to hit Charlie?"

Don felt his jaw drop. "Wha—how did it feel to _hit Charlie_?"

"Yeah, Eppes, that's what I asked. Come on, you can't tell me that you haven't wanted to hit him once or twice, and I'm not talking about when you were kids."

"Sure," Don said, still shocked by the question. "He drives me insane sometimes..."

"He's your brother, that's what they do. So how did it feel?"

"What do you want from me?" Don exploded, moving away from the wall and standing squarely in front of Bradford.

"For you to answer the question," Bradford asked calmly. "How did it feel?"

"Li-like I'd hit Robin, or my dad, or Amita," Don said angrily. "I felt bad, okay. There was nothing good or-or _satisfying_ about it." He sank down onto the edge of the chair opposite Bradford as he realised what he'd said. Punching Charlie, how he'd felt, it was something he'd tried to avoid thinking about other than apologising for, and now he realised he'd been afraid of how he felt. That maybe some part of him had taken satisfaction in doing it. That maybe some part of him had realised it was Charlie before he'd taken the swing.

Don sprawled back into the chair, still reeling from the revelation.

TBC...


	26. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 26

Chapter 26

There was a knock at the front door. Alan wiped his hands mostly dry on the dish cloth and went to answer it. He had no idea who it could be, he certainly wasn't expecting any visitors and he was the only one home. There was only one way to find out. He looked through the peep hole, Don had hammered into him the importance of making sure he did that at the moment, and pulled open the door.

"Robin," he said, surprised by who it was standing on his door step. He noticed the FBI agent standing a few feet behind her and off to the side: her bodyguard. "Donnie's not here."

"I know, I wanted to see you."

"Well, come in." He pulled the door further open and moved aside for her to pass him, smiling at the brunette FBI agent when she followed. Thoughts about how he should treat Robin whirled through his head. His son had hurt her. A lot. A few days of therapy and seeing each other wasn't going to have miraculously changed that or removed the bad memories.

"Agent Timas," the agent said, holding out her hand for Alan to shake.

"Alan Eppes," he said in reply, taking the offered hand.

Robin stood uncertainly in the room, like now that she was there she didn't know why it was she'd come. The make-up she'd applied couldn't quite cover up the dark circles under her eyes or the slight puffiness. Combine that with the redness of the tip of her nose, and Alan speculated that she'd been crying a lot. He frowned and started to worry about why exactly she'd come to see him. Things should have been improving, not getting worse, although considering the extreme nature of what had happened, ups and downs and tears were probably expected. He really hoped that she hadn't decided to break up with Don, to give up on trying to get back what they'd lost. Don had been tight lipped about the therapy sessions with Robin so Alan didn't even have that as a gauge.

"Do you want a coffee, or something else?" Alan asked, hoping to break the ice. Robin just shook her head. "Something to eat?"

She smiled at that, but it didn't reach her eyes. "No, I'm fine, thanks, Alan."

"I'll just be..." Agent Timas pointed to the foot of the stairs and walked off, giving them some privacy while remaining still in eyesight.

"Sit, sit, then."

They both sat, Alan where he'd been sitting the morning when his world had come tumbling down and Robin across from him where Charlie had been. Everything had changed since then and while Alan knew so much more about what had happened, he was still in the dark about a lot of things. What he knew was bad enough, he wasn't sure he wanted to know more.

"Has Don been staying here since he got out of the hospital?"

That wasn't a question he expected Robin to lead with. "Ah, yeah. I couldn't let him go anywhere else, not with—" He stopped himself. That was Don's to share, not his.

The narrowing of Robin's eyes told him that she'd gleaned something from how he'd cut himself off.

"The day that I came back, something...happened, didn't it?"

Alan's heart began to beat faster and his stomach sank. Thinking about it brought back the fear that he'd felt. No, not just fear, absolute boot-shaking terror. "Yes, it did."

"Don tried to kill himself." It was a statement, not a question. Then Robin looked up slightly, a smile without humour creasing her lips. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's right, he said that he didn't try to kill himself because he didn't actually swallow the pills."

That got an automatic eye-roll and sigh from Alan. Technicalities, something that Don liked to play with sometimes. But talking about this again, and with Robin—it had been hard enough before, but this was going to be even harder.

"Your son..." Robin shook her head with a somewhat disgusted expression, and her jaw tensed as she sniffed back tears. "I've spent the past two days crying, and enough time before that crying, I don't need to do it any more."

"He told you two days ago," Alan surmised.

"Yeah." She jiggled her knee slightly. "This is difficult enough." Her lips pressed shut, holding in the pain. "But knowing that he's been suicidal...That's not the Don I know." She shook her head again. "Nothing's been the Don I know since that night."

"He's been hurt," Alan started.

"So have I and I didn't try to kill myself," Robin snapped. She looked away, taking a deep breath, before softening her tone. "I'm sorry."

"What you went through was horrible. I'm so sorry that it happened." He paused, thinking carefully about his words. "I'm not saying that what Don went through was worse, it was just horrible in a different way to what happened to you. And...and I don't think we know everything that happened to him." It was something that Alan had started to realise.

Robin looked shaken. "You think...you think _more_ happened than hurting me and kidnapping Liz and being shot? I don't even...what more could there be?"

Alan shook his head, even though the question was rhetorical.

"Is he still suicidal?" The question was hesitant.

 _Is he?_ Alan didn't think so, Don had seemed to have pulled himself out of that hole. But it didn't mean that he couldn't go back there, if the right push was applied. "I don't think so, he's been slowly getting better."

"And what happens if we don't make it, if we can't get past this?" Robin asked softly, her gaze serious. "Is he going to try to kill himself again? I can't—I don't know whether I can take that responsibility." Her voice lowered again. "I'm still scared of him. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. I don't know whether I can... I don't know whether that will ever change. The thought of him touching me..."

The anguish in her eyes hit Alan like a blow. "If—" Alan's voice came out hoarsely and he cleared his throat. "If it comes to that, it's not your fault and not your responsibility. It's not."

"I don't want to lose him, but I don't know whether I'm strong enough for this," Robin admitted, her hands worrying at each other. "I have nightmares about him killing me."

"All you can do is try...a-and you don't even have to do that, if it hurts too much." It was hard to add the final words, but Alan knew that it wasn't right to not give Robin the out. She didn't have to try, there was nothing that said that she did. She was a victim, she'd been hurt in one of the most terrible ways imaginable. It was amazing that she didn't want to give up. But everybody had their limit, particularly when hurt and fear were involved.

"There was one moment, at therapy...he smiled at me." Her expression softened. "You know that smile that reaches his eyes? And it felt like before, like..." She shook her head slightly, having trouble putting it into words. "Like nothing had happened. Just for that one brief moment. I want to have that back." She shrugged, her eyes sad. "But I don't know whether I can."

* * *

"...FBI Special Agent Don Eppes, who is supervisor of the Violent Crimes Squad. The FBI isn't providing many details, but we believe that he assaulted and held his girlfriend, Assistant US Attorney Robin Brooks, at her house before abducting another FBI agent. We do not know how the abduction was ended but Agent Eppes—"

Don hit pause on the video, hoping that Charlie hadn't caught what he was watching and listening to. The wide-eyed horrified look that Charlie directed his way as he approached told Don that he was too late. Don didn't bother trying to hide what he was doing any further.

"Why—why would you want to watch that?" Charlie stammered, his brow furrowed in distress. "Why would you want to torture yourself like that?"

"I'm not torturing myself," Don answered him quietly.

"You're not? It sure looks like you are. There is no reason for you t-to watch or read any of those reports. None."

"Yes, there is." Don got why Charlie was upset, but this wasn't about him. There was a very good reason for what he was doing. It was painful, but there was a point.

"Explain it to me, then," Charlie demanded.

Don gestured at the laptop. "I just... This is how the world saw me, what everybody thought of me. What Robin and my team thought of me. I need to see it, to understand it, to understand where they're coming from." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a self-deprecating smile on his face. Things weren't going so well with Robin. She was terrified of him. She didn't want to be terrified of him, but she was. Bradford had said it would just take time. Each therapy session together since their aborted session had been very hard, for both of them. Don was doing his best to remain positive, but it was wearing at him. And it hurt, more than he'd thought possible.

"Things with Robin..." Charlie surmised.

Don shrugged, trying to keep his expression neutral and not wanting to talk about it.

"If you could understand how she saw you, that would help," Charlie said.

"Yeah," Don admitted.

"So is it? Helping?"

Don shook his head. "I'll get back to you on that." He pressed play again.

* * *

Don managed to make it to his cubicle without anyone seeing him. Just another day at the office...well, for everybody else. For him, it was his first day back in what felt like a long time. And the biggest trust he'd been given since Claymore had started everything. Trust that he was coping well enough to go back to work on desk duty and that he'd be able to play nice with the rest of his team, especially Liz. A few sessions with Bradford, and Liz and he finally seemed to feel more comfortable around each other. He wouldn't be getting into her personal space any time soon, but at least it was one aspect of the mess that seemed to be on its way to being sorted out. He looked around and spotted why he'd gotten that far without running into somebody—they were all in the conference room. One of the monitors was displaying photos, crime scene photos he guessed. He was in later than he'd expected, or than he'd told David he would be, Bradford having decided last minute to have a short session before Don went into work.

It was actually sort of liberating being by himself. There was no need for bodyguards in the FBI building, and without his team being at their desks it was the most physically alone he'd been since he'd driven from Robin's to the house where he'd abducted Liz. He nodded to another agent that walked past before putting his jacket on the back of his chair. The fact that his desk had been searched at some point was obvious. While things had been neatened up, probably by one of his team, and put back roughly where they usually went, they were still out of place, both on the desktop and in the drawers when he opened them. He was surprised by the pang of betrayal he felt, he'd known that everything would have been searched: his desk, locker, car, apartment, probably even his childhood home. But it was more real now, seeing the results of it. The other place it would hit would be his apartment, but he hadn't been back there at all yet.

Going back to his apartment and leaving Charlie's was something that he planned to do in the next few days. It had been vetoed all of the previous week when he'd brought it up, by pretty much everybody, including Bradford and David. Now it was almost time. At least Bradford had finally agreed—Don had one person in his corner now. But it was time, both to stop putting Charlie and his dad at risk and to try to get back to a more 'normal' life. As normal as it could be with bodyguards and covert surveillance.

There was a file sitting on his desk and a post-it note stuck to the front of it, Colby's scrawl distinctive. One of the prosecutors from Robin's office wanted to meet up to go over testimony for a trial that Don realised was starting in two weeks.

"Nothing like being thrown back in the deep end," he muttered. He sighed and undid the buttons on the cuffs of his blue dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up. Dress shirt and pants had been a strategic decision—look professional after all the shit his reputation would have been through. _The rumours of my complete and utter breakdown have been greatly exaggerated..._ He sat down and started rearranging his desk and drawers back to how they should have been. There were files missing, probably having migrated to David's desk in his absence. Don was grateful that he'd been up to date with his paperwork before, it had meant that nobody had been on his case about it. He'd cleared his email backlog over the previous week, so he knew that that would be one disaster that would not be awaiting him.

He'd almost finished rearranging things when he heard the voices of his team getting closer. He swivelled in his chair to face them, trying to ignore the slightly nervous feeling in his gut. It was his team, there was no reason for him to be nervous or worried. They were all smiling at him, even Liz, and he gave a somewhat pained smile back in response. The attention was making him feel a bit uncomfortable. Telling himself that he shouldn't be feeling that way wasn't helping matters. His head might accept it, but the rest of him didn't seem to agree.

"Good to have you back, Don," David said, the others either saying 'yeah' or nodding in agreement.

"Thanks."

There was a very awkward pause—Don not being able to think of anything to say that wasn't stupid or, considering everything that had happened, insensitive—before the others scattered to their desks. David was the only one brave, or stupid, enough to remain to talk to Don.

"We did our best with your desk," David said, guessing what Don had been doing.

"It's fine," Don dismissed, looking back at it. They both knew he was lying. "Guess I better get back to this and start refreshing myself on the De Marco file."

He spent the next hour attempting to read through the file. Attempting because he hadn't even gotten through the first two pages. He was antsy and distracted and couldn't help but look longingly after Colby and Nikki when they left the office to make enquiries. Fed up of sitting still, he went to the break-room to get a coffee. Caffeine probably wasn't going to help with his jitteriness, but the routine and taste were a comfort and making coffee was something that he could do in his sleep. He was absently sucking the coffee off the swizzle stick he'd used to stir it when he looked out the break-room window back into the office. The faces looking at him that quickly turned away when they realised he was looking back made his pulse suddenly speed up. His skin prickling, he turned his back on the window, stomach feeling unsettled.

Being watched, the centre of attention, had never particularly been a problem for him before. Sure, giving an actual speech to an audience was a bit different, that made him nervous, but with baseball, running operations and being a supervisor he was used to being looked at, being watched. He'd learnt to be comfortable with it, it was his element, and baseball, and sometimes the FBI, gave him a rush from it. He didn't know why it was such a problem now. There'd been the same looks the first day he'd come back to work after the stabbing, and after Colby was arrested as a traitor, but it hadn't bothered him then. Okay, yeah, he amended to himself, the looks after Colby was arrested had bothered him. Mostly because they had tarred him with the same brush and judged him as an agent, as somebody who had missed what was going on right under his nose.

This was different...and he didn't know why. This made his skin crawl. He took a few deep breaths, trying to relax, before straightening up and striding purposefully back to his desk.

* * *

"Dad, I'm fine. I'm just going back to my apartment, I don't need your help." Don was starting to get beyond exasperated. He was an adult, he did not need his dad to coddle him. "It's not like I'm going to be alone, there's going to be an agent with me. I'll be fine."

"What about food? Anything that's in your fridge probably has a life of its own by now."

Don's eyebrows rose. He got that his dad was worried, but this was getting ridiculous. "I'll _buy_ groceries, you know, with that money that the government gives me for working for them? I'm not a kid, Dad. I can look after myself. And it's not like you're never going to see me again."

"Fine." Alan threw his hands up in defeat and walked away.

Don sighed and rubbed at his forehead. Agent Howard gave a sympathetic grimace when Don turned towards him.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," Don answered. He was ready, even if his stomach was ever so slightly tied up in knots at the thought of going home. Don picked up the bag with the clothes and things that he'd been using while at Charlie's and followed Howard out of the house. Howard went to the passenger side of Don's SUV, knowing that Don wanted to drive, now that he could. One bit of control he'd gotten back.

The drive was almost relaxing, but the tension kicked in again when they pulled up in his parking spot.

"Your locks have been changed, here's the new keys," Howard said when they'd arrived at Don's door, handing the items over.

It reminded Don that Claymore had been inside his apartment, who knew how many times. For all Don knew, he could have been there when Don was asleep, watching him. A chill travelled down his spine, making him shudder. He shook off the feeling and opened the door. Howard stopped him from going in, instead making the entrance himself, hand on his gun. Don followed him inside and closed the door behind him. The apartment felt cold and alien, more like the first apartment he'd had when he'd come back to LA, that he'd hated, than the place that he'd loved the first time he'd seen it.

After Howard had checked all the rooms, Don went upstairs and dumped his bag beside his bed, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and resting his chin on his hands, fingertips touching his lips. He didn't know how long he sat there before he looked around. There wasn't anything too obvious that indicated that the room had been searched. He looked towards the foot of the bed. The camera that Claymore had placed in his bedroom had come from that angle. A chill went down his spine and a feeling of being watched came over him. Even though he knew that the room would have been searched, he had to know for sure himself that it was no longer there.

A thorough search revealed that it was gone and he closed his eyes, resting back against the foot of his bed. Feeling like someone was watching him, someone he couldn't see, was starting to become a constant—and unwelcome—part of his life. _It's not paranoia if there really_ is _someone out to get you,_ he told himself. He stood back up and went downstairs. Agent Howard was standing in front of his CD collection, several of them in his hands, looking like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. Don raised his eyebrows, curious to see how the agent would explain what he was doing more than pissed off at yet another invasion of his privacy. Well, yet. Pissed off could still happen.

Howard looked down at his hands before looking up again, his deer-in-headlights expression now replaced by a respectful steady gaze. "Your brother mentioned that you like your CDs to be alphabetical, and when I was looking around, I saw that some of them weren't."

Don stepped closer and looked at the CD racks. There were more than just 'some' that were out of order. Everything would had to have been searched, particularly with looking for cameras, and nobody was going to spend time making sure that CDs went back the way they came out. Not when it wasn't important to hide that there had been a search.

"It was either this or the fridge," Howard added, smiling slightly.

"Thanks," Don said, nodding in appreciation. He turned away. "I'll take the fridge."

TBC...


	27. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 27

Chapter 27

"Don, a word."

Don looked up, but David had already moved away from where he'd stopped beside Don's desk and was heading to one of the interview rooms. The quiet words had been tight and controlled, but Don had detected an undercurrent of anger. His eyes narrowed, he was not in the mood to deal with David's shit, whatever that may be. And David was _not_ his boss, he didn't just get to expect that Don would follow him at his beck and call. Don deliberately waited for a minute or two before following, to make sure David got that idea. Don might be still on desk duty and David might be running things right now, but he was David's boss, not the other way around. Colby studiously kept his eyes on what he was working on as Don passed by, the line of his back indicating that he was tense.

Don strolled into the room, trying to project a casual 'I have no idea what you want to talk about' air, before resting his butt on the corner of the table. He might have been lower in height than David by doing that and therefore at a 'disadvantage', but he knew that his demeanour plus David's and his normal roles gave him the advantage. Forcing David into being the one to close the door also reinforced that Don was the one higher up the ladder.

David rounded on him, his movements abrupt. "What is your problem?"

Don raised his eyebrows, his bad mood deteriorating further. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. We've all been giving you a lot of slack because of what happened, but enough is enough, Don." David's stance was aggressive. "You're snapping at everyone and you look like you haven't slept in days. If you do not sort yourself out, I _will_ recommend that you get put back on sick leave."

It knocked the wind out of Don's anger. He didn't want to go back on sick leave, to take a step back in the long journey of getting his life back. And David was right, about everything. Don slumped slightly and looked down, biting at his lip.

"What's going on, Don?" David asked in a softer tone. "You wanted to come back to work, to go back to your apartment."

"I did," Don agreed. He shrugged, knowing that he had to talk about this. He had to know, now that he'd figured out what the problem was. It had taken him long enough to realise what was bugging him in the office. "I only realised yesterday..." Lifting his gaze up, he saw that David was waiting patiently for him to continue. "How..." He cleared his throat, starting again. "How many people have seen those videos?"

Understanding dawned on David's face.

"My God, Don." David shook his head and ran his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with himself. "I didn't think... I'm sorry, I didn't think about the fact that you'd need to know. That Robin would need to know." He turned his head and looked back out into the office, probably trying to think about what Don was seeing and feeling when he was out there, surrounded by people who might well have seen what he'd been forced to do to his girlfriend. Who might well have seen video of him having sex. He focussed back on Don, ready to give him the answers he needed. "The last video—the assault—me, McGowan, one of the techs—I can't remember her name, I'll get it for you later—and Sanchez. And Bradford, of course." The last was added as an afterthought, like Don should know.

But Don didn't know. Bradford hadn't told him, nobody had told him.

"And the others..." David paused, not comfortable with talking about it, making Don think that he hadn't been lying with what he said at the hospital. "The only person who's fully looked through them is the tech. I had to skim through them, to confirm what the tech said about them. Bradford's the only other person who's seen them and he also skimmed through them."

Bradford, again, and yet again it was like an afterthought. The betrayal that Don was starting to feel at not being told, at his therapist and one of his team having both seen them, _and nobody had told him_ , made him snap, "Guess you knew what you were talking about, what you said at the hospital, then?"

"Don, don't." David shook his head with a sad expression. "You think I wanted to watch them? You think that any of us did? And I only said that because you were stuck so far inside your head that I couldn't get you to help yourself. I was running out of ideas."

"Were you running out of ideas when you let _Bradford_ watch them?"

It felt like the higher betrayal. The man that Don had to trust, who he had to trust so much with so many secrets and thoughts and feelings, and he'd seen Don having sex. Bradford had watched the videos and he hadn't told Don.

David blinked, his eyes widening in shock. "You didn't know? He didn't tell you? I-I thought you knew, I thought Bradford had told you to ask me."

"Nope." Don gave a sardonic laugh. He kept on getting screwed over, by everyone and everything. It never seemed to end. A sudden strong need to confront Bradford about it swelled up in him, despite the fact that he had an appointment with Bradford late in the afternoon, and he stood up abruptly and hurried out of the room. He heard David call after him, and then tell Colby to go with him after Don snagged his jacket off the back of the chair. Don angrily poked at the button for the elevator a few times, annoyed that it was taking more than a few seconds to arrive, giving Colby the time he needed to join him. Colby wisely stayed silent through the ride in the elevator, the trek to his SUV and the drive to Bradford's office.

"I need to see Bradford," Don demanded of the receptionist when he made it to the right floor.

"I'm sorry, Agent Eppes," the man said, sounding anything but apologetic and probably used to FBI agents who thought they could bully him into doing what they wanted, "but Doctor Bradford is with a patient right now. I can see whether he can squeeze you in for a few minutes between appointments, but you'll have to wait till the end of his current session to find out."

Colby jumped in before Don could let loose with a tirade. "When does this session end?"

"In fifteen minutes."

Stepping forward into Don's line of sight, Colby said firmly, "We'll wait, then. C'mon, Don, let's sit down."

Don ground his teeth together but followed Colby's suggestion, perching on the edge of one of the not very comfortable chairs and tapping his foot against the floor. Before sitting down, Colby picked two car magazines from the shelf, offering Don one. Don jerked his head in a shake and Colby sat beside him with a shrug, opening the magazine up.

Compulsive glances at his watch indicated that time had seemed to slow down. Colby was clearly only half-focussing on the magazine, with the amount of times he glanced up to look at Don. Presumably to make sure that he hadn't decided to get up and storm into Bradford's office, consequences be damned. Five minutes before the end of the session Bradford's next patient arrived. She gave Don and Colby a long look before sitting down opposite and pretending to read a magazine. Clearly she was aware that something was off.

Shortly after—although it felt like a long time to Don—a man exited Bradford's office, stopping at the receptionist's desk to schedule his next appointment. Impatient, Don stood up, heading towards Bradford's still closed door.

"Agent Eppes!" the receptionist said forcefully, stopping him. "You can't go in there yet. Just let me call Dr Bradford first." The receptionist picked up the phone and started speaking after a second.

When Don started to move forward again, consequences be damned, Colby put a restraining hand on his arm. Don tried to pull away, but Colby wouldn't let him, tightening his grip slightly. Being manhandled by a subordinate agent was not something that Don was willing to put up with.

"Don," Colby warned quietly.

"Let go of me," Don spat out, just as quiet, his tone indicating that any second he was going to lose his shit. Enough was enough.

Colby stood his ground, though, keeping his hold on Don's arm until the door opened and Bradford appeared. Then he dropped Don's arm, obviously thinking that Don would calm down now. Don could feel himself tense and get angrier at the sight of his therapist, his hands balling into fists, and took a savage delight in the worry and alarm that briefly crossed Bradford's face before he controlled his expression. When he was in range, Don readied himself to take a swing, wanting Bradford to feel pain for the pain that he was causing him and take his anger out on something. Unfortunately, before he could follow through, Colby inserted himself in front of Don and pushed him back, Don's body language having telegraphed his intentions.

"Whoa, Don, calm down," Colby said, his hands up, palms facing Don.

"Why don't you come into my office, Don?" Bradford said calmly, more of a statement than a question.

Don walked around Colby, who'd finally lowered his hands, still pissed off, but the urge to do Bradford some physical damage starting to die.

"Agent Granger, you can stay out here," Bradford added.

"Are you sure?" Colby asked, some doubt in his voice.

"We'll be fine," Bradford said, watching Don as he stalked past him into the office.

Bradford closed his door, not saying anything but instead just looking at Don. Agitated, Don didn't stay in one place for long, instead he paced around the room.

"You watched the videos," he finally accused, his voice a little shaky. "You watched the videos that Claymore took and you didn't tell me."

There was a soft 'ahh' from Bradford. "Don. I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have," Don agreed, still hurt and angry. A simple apology wasn't going to fix it. He ran a hand through his hair. "You've seen me having _sex_. And you didn't tell me. How can I trust you now?"

"If you can't, we'll find you someone else to work with."

Don almost growled in frustration. That was not what he wanted, not what he needed. He needed to know why. Why had Bradford not bothered to tell him? Did he think that it wasn't that important, in the scheme of things—if so, he was very wrong. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were suicidal."

"I'm not anymore," Don corrected him.

"You're not," Bradford agreed. "But you're not sleeping, you're on edge and you're only just holding it together. You know that's the truth. I wasn't going to tell you when you were suicidal, you didn't need that added to everything else, and I didn't want to take the risk of pushing you back towards it. Building up a relationship with a new therapist is not something that you could afford to take the time to do, you needed help right then and there." He bounced his head slightly. "Now, you can afford that time, if you need to. I'd debated telling you this week, but since going home and back to work you haven't been coping as well. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, Don, and that you found out like this."

There was some level of sense to what Bradford had said, and Don really didn't want there to be. "Why were you even watching them in the first place?"

"Agent Sinclair called me in after you were shot. They had no idea why you'd done what you did, other than for what you'd told Agent Warner. As your therapist, Sinclair thought that I'd be able to evaluate your actions, give some clue as to whether it was you or something else was going on. I watched the video of the assault and it seemed odd to me. Miss Brooks was almost naked and there clearly was a sexual component to it, but you weren't aroused and it actually stayed pretty tame. I needed to know whether there was something wrong with your sex life with her or whether there was something wrong with what was happening on the video. So I skimmed through the other videos and clearly there was nothing wrong with your sex life, even after your failed proposal. That was a pretty big indicator that you might not have been wanting to do this, Don. Why bother doing something like that if you weren't getting off on it?"

Don had sat down on a chair part way through Bradford's speech, somewhat dazed. Nobody had really explained much of what had happened in the investigation to him, and to be honest, he hadn't tried to find anything out either.

"Don, what happened when you went out of the room during the assault on Robin? Before you came back in again."

He shook his head slightly, trying to refocus and take in the question. "Claymore told me to go downstairs," he began, almost mechanically, "to give Robin some time to think about the situation. I only made it part way down the stairs before I collapsed against the wall. I zoned out, I think, until Claymore told me to go back up to the room."

"Do you remember saying anything?"

Don blinked. It was an odd question. "Saying anything?"

"When you turn the sound right up on that part of the video, you're saying something over and over again, almost under your breath."

With a frown Don looked away, trying to think. He couldn't remember saying anything, at all. He'd been pretty out of it. "I don't remember saying anything."

"You were saying, 'Alive is better than not alive'."

"Alive is better than not alive," Don murmured, repeating Bradford. He'd thought it, before Robin had woken up, when Claymore had forced him to strip and tie Robin up. And he'd thought it several more times during the assault, but he hadn't realised he'd ever said it out loud.

"That was the first real piece of evidence that the FBI had that you were under duress, Don. That video was important. Claymore may have used it to torture you, but it also helped."

"You found that on the tape," Don speculated, his voice a monotone.

"Yes, I did. I wanted to know what was happening when you were outside the room."

Bradford left him in silence for a minute. Don was still reeling, from the knowledge of what had been happening while he'd been in hospital to the fact that Bradford hadn't told him about watching the videos.

"Don, you're exhausted. I really think that you should go back to your brother's house and try to get some sleep. You're safe there, Claymore was never watching you, there were never any cameras."

Don gave a weak snort. Trust Bradford to know exactly why he was having trouble sleeping at his apartment, even though Don hadn't talked about it.

"You can decide what to do about therapy later."

"Okay," Don agreed softly.

"Just one more thing. Think about why you've kept things from Robin. You're protecting her. I was trying to do the same for you. Doesn't make it right, but there was a reason."

That was going to be harder to accept, even with what Bradford was saying being true. A wave of exhaustion rolled over Don, so he didn't say any more. Instead he got up and left the room, joining Colby outside. He handed off his car keys to Colby, rubbing at his forehead tiredly.

"Can you take me to Charlie's?"

"Sure," Colby replied.

* * *

Don woke with a jerk, wanting to scrub the dream from his mind. His sex drive had been non-existent, and _that_ was how it chose to reassert itself? A nightmare where he actually raped Robin? And it wasn't just his dream, he realised. Even through the disgust he was feeling, there was a low level of arousal, enough that he was half-hard. He gagged and tried to rapidly untangle himself from the sheets, not wanting to make a mess on the carpet in his old room.

He made it to the bathroom and hung over the toilet for a few minutes, managing to restrain himself to dry heaving. Stomach starting to settle, he slid down the wall onto the cool tiles and rested his head in his hands. Like his heaving, the sobs were dry, no tears managing to join them. He needed this all to be over, to have his life and normal back.

He stayed on the cool floor for a while after everything had calmed down again, although the feeling of self-loathing and disgust had not gone away. When he thought he could stand again he went back into his old bedroom and picked up his phone. He'd only been asleep for two hours.

Betrayal or no betrayal, he needed to talk to Bradford. He needed to know that this didn't mean he wanted to hurt Robin. He just had to hope that they hadn't scheduled someone else in for his session, after his confrontation with the therapist that morning.

TBC...


	28. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Don rubbed his eyes, trying to focus them. Sometimes having a three-hour nap was a bad thing.

The previous two weeks had started off rocky, with it taking Don a few days to deal with the revelation that Bradford had seen the videos. Don also hadn't exactly been comfortable around David, either. The nightmares that had started forced him to continue seeing Bradford, not wanting the hassle of breaking in another therapist, getting him back to a place where he'd been able to start trusting the therapist again.

The nightmares had finally stopped, or at least those ones had. Don was incredibly grateful for that fact. He'd given evidence at the De Marco trial which, strangely, had been the best thing he could have done. His testimony had made a difference to someone else's life and he'd been doing his job. For the brief time that he was on the stand, and for the prepping beforehand, he'd been Special Agent Don Eppes and nobody else, even if the defence had used everything that had happened because of Claymore to try to discredit and rattle him. People had been relying on him, he couldn't let them down and react to the defence's baiting. He'd also finally been cleared for field duty. All of which meant that it was now time to try to lure Claymore out and end it.

If he was going to switch his sleep schedule completely around for who knows how long and he needed to stay alert while awake, then getting a bit of a lead for the first night was probably a good thing. And coffee was going to be essential. If he was going to be bait for Claymore, sitting up all night in his apartment, then he needed to be very awake. He wasn't looking forward to having to sleep in the FBI building until Claymore was arrested or dead. It wasn't going to be very convincing to Claymore that nobody was protecting him and it wasn't a setup if he could then see Don going to a motel to sleep during the day. Plus that would give Claymore an opportunity to come after him when he wasn't ready for it, which was what they were trying to avoid. The agents on covert surveillance were supposed to stop Claymore before he got anywhere near Don, but Don knew that you couldn't always rely on things going as planned, hence his completely screwed sleeping patterns. Robin's protection would remain in place, giving Claymore only one obvious avenue of attack: Don.

David came into the room, stopping in the doorway courteously before seeing that Don was awake. "Good, you're awake. You sure you're ready for this?"

Don nodded. He was as ready as he ever would be and he needed this over.

Don's relationship with Robin had even started to improve. They'd run into each other on his floor of the building once and had managed to talk for five minutes in the break room over coffee with neither of them freaking out. It had been a record. Robin had also joined him for an incredibly awkward evening with Charlie, Amita and his dad at the house, which, yet again, both of them had survived with minimal freak outs. And among the awkwardness there had been some good moments. They were two dancers, slightly out of step with each other, but close enough that they could feel that if they could just get it right they would be great together.

Things were on the mend. There was just this one last matter to deal with.

"You know you don't have to do this yet. We can wait a while longer," David said, sitting down on a chair opposite Don, worry on his face.

"David, it's fine," Don reassured him, resting his elbows on his knees. "I need this over with. And I'm fine."

"You sure that you don't want any cameras?"

Don managed to restrain a shudder. That had been one thing that he'd been dead against. There was no way that anybody was putting cameras in his apartment. Wire him up for sound, give him a bullet proof vest, but he'd put his foot down at cameras.

"I'm sure." Don made sure to put a slightly teasing smile on his face. "Will you stop fussing? Man, you're worse than my dad."

"Hey," David replied, smiling as well. "I'm trying to protect something important—access to your dad's cooking."

"Oh, ha ha." Don shook his head.

In what felt like a short period of time, Don was pulling up in his parking spot at his building, kevlar vest hidden by his jacket, and wired up for sound. He also had an ear piece so that he could be alerted to anything that happened. He wasn't alone, one agent travelling with him in his SUV as per usual and the other following behind.

"Here we go," he muttered before he opened his door and got out of his SUV, not exactly sure what was going to come out of his mouth when it came down to it. His team were not going to be involved with the surveillance, in case Claymore decided to follow one of them. They didn't want to take the risk that he'd figure out what was going on, particularly considering how much of a forward planner he'd turned out to be. So it meant that Agent Howard was once again Don's companion...and about to be dumped as such.

Howard had also gotten out of the vehicle and Don approached him, putting a restraining hand out.

"You're not coming in."

"Agent Eppes, what...?" Howard played his part well, seeming genuinely confused.

"I'm sick and tired of being followed around," Don said, annoyance clear in his voice. "I want some privacy. Nothing's happened, so what's the point? I can look after myself now, I don't need a babysitter." He moved his hands in an emphatic cutting gesture. "That's it, no more."

"Agent Eppes, look..." Howard started, trying to placate him.

"No, dammit! That's it. It's my choice. You cannot force me have to protection." It wasn't taking much for Don to sound angry, the feelings were there underneath the surface in regards to his protection. He _had_ had enough.

"Ju-just let me call..." Howard put up his finger, before moving a few feet away and pulling his cell out. Thirty seconds of Howard explaining the situation over the phone and Howard's shoulders slumped slightly. He tried arguing before finally hanging up. He approached Don again. "Okay, it's been cleared. You're on your own, Agent Eppes."

Don nodded and turned away, starting to head into his building.

"Just, be careful!" Howard called after him.

Don didn't bother raising a hand in acknowledgement.

"We've got your back, Agent Eppes," the voice of Agent Luke Pettigrew reassured in his ear.

Don wouldn't have admitted it, but going into his apartment alone was one of the most intimidating things he'd done in a long time. Yes, he was tired of never being alone, but he wasn't stupid. Claymore was out there and they were deliberately baiting him. And the man had proven that he was incredibly dangerous. Don didn't expect that he would try anything that night—he was too smart to. If he was around, watching, then he'd wait to make sure that Don was alone, to try to determine whether there was any kind of surveillance in place. The following couple of days would be the really dangerous time. Don also expected Claymore to get up close and personal rather than to try to hurt or kill him at a distance and that a gun likely was going to be involved, considering the MO from the rapes that they'd investigated. Hence the kevlar vest.

Thanks to a shopping trip two days before, Don actually had food in his fridge, so he didn't have to call for takeout. It was very hard resisting the temptation of having a beer while he prepared dinner and caught the sports highlights on the TV. But he couldn't risk being even slightly intoxicated. Dinner eaten, he slumped down in front of the TV, sound on just high enough for him to follow it.

"Welfare check, Agent Eppes," Luke's voice came over his earpiece.

"I'm fine," Don said. "Any sign of Claymore?"

"Nothing so far."

Around 11 pm he moved from downstairs up to his bedroom area, turning off pretty much all of the lights. He'd have a shower in the morning at the office. He turned on a small lamp next to his bed and settled down with some magazines and a book on top of the covers, pillows fluffed up behind him. When he had cleaned up from dinner he'd made a couple of sandwiches to eat later on and grabbed a bottle of water. He wouldn't need to go back downstairs again. The thermos of coffee he'd also prepared would help to keep him awake.

He ate one of the sandwiches around 2 am, much to the annoyance of the surveillance team, who'd apparently not brought enough food with them to cater to Pettigrew's metabolism. Don knew by now that you made sure that you had double the normal amount of food when Pettigrew was around. The man, for some reason, never seemed to quite realise how much he ate so relying on him to make sure he had enough food was never a good option. Something that the rest of the current surveillance team didn't seem to know.

Around 3:30, Don really started to lag. The other sandwich and two cups of coffee woke him up enough again to get through the rest of the morning. There still hadn't been any sign of Claymore.

At 6 am, Don started to get ready for work like normal. He was at the FBI office by 8 and ready to get out of the vest, have a shower and sleep for seven hours. He crashed completely, not even a little disturbed by sleeping in the office, considering how tired he was. When he woke in the afternoon, he worked for a couple of hours and had an appointment with Bradford before heading home again, ready to repeat the cycle. Not wanting to put his dad or brother at risk, he was going to avoid seeing them. Robin, too, even though she still had protection in place. If Claymore decided to come after him while he was with any of them, he'd never forgive himself.

The following three days passed the same way with absolutely no sign of Claymore. It had gotten to the point that Don was thinking that he was right—the one thing that would provoke Claymore like nothing else, assuming that he was still watching Don, would be seeing Don and Robin back together. Considering Claymore's personality and the photo that he'd sent Don, the assumption that he was still watching was likely valid, Claymore was just being too cautious. They needed him to act recklessly, to not have planned ten steps ahead. Every instinct told Don that his and Robin's relationship being very clearly on the mend was the thing that would cause Claymore to snap. Which meant they would need to be seen together, out in public. While Don wasn't sure that either of them were ready for it, he had to discuss it with Robin. He knew that she was getting as frustrated with the way she had to live as he had been. To that end, before he went to sleep he asked her to meet him at the FBI office late in the afternoon, wanting to talk to her first before he took his idea to David and the ADIC.

Waking up to feel her eyes on him and seeing the softness—the love—there was one of the nicest feelings he'd had in a long time.

"Hey," Don said softly, not wanting to destroy the moment.

"Hey," she replied, equally as quiet, smiling slightly. "I got here a bit earlier than I expected. David told me you were in here. I hope you don't mind."

Feeling like it was right, he pulled his hand out from under the blanket and reached out. She returned his gesture after a brief second of hesitation, sliding her chair forward a little and entwining her fingers in his. They looked at each other, neither saying a word, just trying out the feeling and seeing how it fit. To Don, it felt natural, like before, and he soon found himself grinning, probably from ear to ear. That got a full blown smile out of Robin and he had to battle a strong urge to kiss her, knowing that that was likely moving too fast, for both of them. It didn't mean that he couldn't tell her how he felt, though.

"I want to kiss you," he admitted.

Robin's smile dimmed and she pulled her hand back. He allowed her to, reluctantly, instantly missing the contact.

"I don't think I'm ready for that," she said, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Neither am I," Don reassured her. "And hey, neither of us know how we might react, anyway. But I still want to an-and I guess...I just wanted you to know that."

She looked at him for another long moment, searching for something, before putting her hand back out with a rueful smile. He grasped it again, rubbing his thumb lazily over the back, content to just stay in the moment and let the silence stand for a while. The comfort of the action did a lot to reassure his faith in the fact that, while they would not get necessarily back to where they'd been in their relationship—it was impossible to go back—they were going to make it. Everything was going to be okay. He could feel it, right throughout him, a deep conviction that made him intently study Robin's face, wanting to see whether she could feel it too. There was still uncertainty there, but that was okay, he believed enough for both of them. He held onto the feeling of contentment, cradling it close to him like it was breakable. Because it was. It had been a long time since he'd felt like this and he knew that he'd likely not be able to cling to it while the risk from Claymore was still hanging over their heads.

"We're going to be okay," Don said, nodding with a slight smile, trying to pack the certainty that he had into the intensity of his gaze on Robin. From the way her brow furrowed, he thought she saw some of it, even if she couldn't quite understand why he was so sure.

"You really believe that," Robin said.

"Yeah," Don agreed. "We love each other."

"Sometimes love isn't enough."

"Sometimes it isn't," Don conceded. "But...but we're strong and we've already made it this far. I'm not going to give up, Robin."

There was another moment of silence as she studied him again, apparently liking what she saw. "I'm not going to give up, either."

He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but, like with the kissing, he held off. They were slowly getting there and he wasn't willing to jeopardise that.

"Has there been any sign of Claymore?" Robin asked. It was why he had called her, but he almost regretted that she'd changed the subject to business.

Don shook his head. "No. That's why I called you. Just..." He let go of her hand and sat up on the sofa, scrubbing his hand through his hair. No doubt it was doing whatever it wanted to do after him sleeping on it. "I think he's still here, watching us...me, more than you. He's not stupid and he hasn't taken the bait. I think we need to push him into reacting and there's one way I can see that happening."

"What?" He could see that she was starting to dread what his answer would be.

"Us," he replied simply. "I think if he sees us out together in public, sees that we're together, then..." He trailed off, shrugging.

Robin jumped out of the chair and moved away from him, arms folded tightly around herself. "You want to paint a big red target on both our backs."

"It's already there. I don't think we have a choice, if we want this to ever be over."

She faced him. "The problem is, I know you're right. I just..." She shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together, clearly distressed.

"I know." He hated admitting weakness, but he needed to this time. "I'm scared, too."

"Where's the stoic Don Eppes lie?" she asked, slightly bitter.

He didn't answer. It was a fair call. Any other time, any other situation and he'd be doing exactly that. Shutting her out, shutting everyone out so that he could deal. So that he didn't let their fear affect him. But he couldn't, not with this.

Robin closed her eyes briefly, resigned, before returning to the chair opposite him.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Okay, how do you want to do this?"

TBC...


	29. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 29

Chapter 29

It was cool outside, which meant that the kevlar vest under his shirt and jacket didn't feel too oppressive. Don looked in the window of the restaurant, spotting Robin already sitting at a table.

"All right, Agent Eppes," a voice said in his ear. "As soon as you're in the restaurant we'll be turning off your mic until you leave again. Enjoy dinner." There was some humour in the last words, but at least Robin and he would get some privacy.

 _Some_ , he thought as he walked through the door. The agent babysitting Robin was sitting a few tables away from her, far enough away that she wouldn't be able to hear their conversation with the noise level, but close enough to intervene should anything happen. She would also be able to alert the agents watching outside. Not that they expected anything to happen in the restaurant, but there was no harm in being overcautious. They'd already given Claymore another three days to go after him without any sign of the man. The ADIC had not been willing to endanger Robin until they were really sure that it was the only way—no matter Don's protests that it _was_ the only way. Considering Claymore's caution and intelligence, Don really did not expect an attack in the restaurant. It was too crowded and wouldn't give Claymore the opportunities he would likely want.

Robin stood up as he approached the table and he took a moment to appreciate the view. He knew that she had a kevlar vest on under her sweater but he could barely see the lines. She looked amazing. The hip hugging skirt followed by bare long legs helped. Her hair was mostly up in a clip, with some tendrils escaping to fall down around her face.

"Hi," she said with a shy smile when he stopped in front of her.

"Hi," he breathed back. Before, he would have pulled her in and kissed her, now he didn't know what he should do, and it looked like Robin didn't know what to do either. "Kiss on the cheek?" he suggested with a grin, making sure it sounded like something she could refuse.

"Yeah, but who's kissing whom?" Robin asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

He laughed and gave a shrug. Robin took advantage, leaning forward and pressing soft lips against his cheek, lingering for just a second longer than she really had to before pulling back. He slowly opened his reflexively closed eyes, still able to smell the perfume that Robin was wearing.

"Okay, I know that look," Robin said seriously, taking a step back. "We probably should sit down."

 _And slow down..._ He was a little dizzy and a huge part of him wanted to just throw caution to the wind and kiss her silly. More than kissing also sounded like a good idea. An image flashed into his mind: what Claymore had made him do. Robin tied up, mostly naked and scared. It was like a bucket of cold water and he drew a breath in sharply. Bradford had warned him, but it was still a shock.

"You all right?" Robin asked, concerned.

He shook the effects of the flashback off, bringing his mind back to the present. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he dismissed, sitting down opposite Robin.

She frowned and stared at him for a moment, obviously not believing him, before letting it slide and picking up her menu. "So, I'm guessing wine is off the list. Or any alcohol."

"Yeah," Don agreed, opening his own menu. Sadly, it was, particularly for him. "And I'm paying this time."

Robin raised her eyebrows, a smirk twitching her lips. "Oh, really?"

"Yep," Don said. "Because I'm not the one paying." The FBI was, seeing as it was an FBI operation. Within reason, of course.

Robin breathed out a quiet, "Oh," figuring out what he meant. "Well then..." She gave a wicked grin.

Don raised a finger. "Within reason."

"Damn. And I was going to order the most expensive thing on the menu..."

They both went back to perusing the menu. Robin shifted in her chair, a slightly pained expression on her face.

"Vest?" Don asked, concerned.

She nodded. "Not the most comfortable thing in the world. And how exactly I'm supposed to eat in it, I'm not quite sure."

"It's possible, believe me," Don reassured her.

"Not that I particularly feel like eating anyway," she muttered, eyes back on her menu.

He reached out across the table and waited until she placed her hand in his. "Hey, there's no reason to be worried at the moment. We're safe here, we might as well have a nice meal."

"That's easy for you to say. You're used to having to eat when there's something dangerous going on."

"Just think of it like court. A big case. You still eat then, right? I know you do." They'd had lunches together, during and before some of her big trials.

Her mouth opened, like she was going to say something, before she closed it again.

"What?" Don asked.

She hesitated, a sheepish look on her face. "Then I go and throw up."

With a groan, Don rested his forehead on his free hand. He'd had no idea...and had insisted that they eat together during a number of the biggest trials Robin had prosecuted.

"Not all the time, just sometimes."

He lifted his head back up, pinning her in his gaze. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I liked eating with you." She shrugged, dismissing it. "Besides, I don't know when that's going to happen and I still need to eat anyway."

"I still wish you'd told me," Don insisted.

"Like you tell me everything?" Robin said, rather pointedly.

"Okay, okay, fair point." He pulled his hand back and raised both in front of him in a surrender gesture. It was meant to be a pleasant dinner, not an inquisition, particularly when Robin had been asking lots of questions, over the weeks, about the details of what had happened after he'd left her house the morning that Claymore had started everything. She'd acted innocent, but Don knew that she thought that there was something that he was keeping from her. There was, but he wasn't going to tell her that, or tell her what it was that he was keeping from her. She didn't need to know, not yet and hopefully not ever. He refused to feel guilty that the 'hopefully not ever' would rely on Claymore being dead. Like with Buck Winters, he had clarity about how Claymore would want this to end. And if Don didn't want to end up dead himself, Claymore was going to have to die. Maybe he'd be proven wrong when it finally came down to it, but he didn't think so.

To distract her, Don focussed back on his menu. To be honest, he wasn't feeling that hungry, either, but they both needed to eat. And, okay, the pasta choices looked pretty good. Maybe he was a little hungry. If he got pasta, odds on Robin would steal more than a few mouthfuls of it, too, even though she'd decide against ordering it.

"You decided what you want?" Don asked.

Robin pursed her lips, taking one last look at the menu. "I was thinking pasta."

He huffed out an incredulous laugh. "Seriously? You never get pasta. And then you—"

"—eat some of yours," Robin finished off. "I figured this time I'd go directly to the source instead of using a middle man."

"Wow, I don't know whether I'll be able to eat an entire meal without you stealing some of my food," Don mocked gently.

"Don't get used to it, Eppes, this may be the only time," Robin tossed back, quick off the mark.

"I'll have to make the most of it, then." Don took a sip of the water sitting in front of him. Their waiter appeared and they both ordered, Robin surprising him by sticking to what she'd said and asking for pasta.

"My mom called," Robin said quietly. "My parents want to come out and see me. They're worried about me. I managed to convince her to put it off for another few weeks. Hopefully everything will be resolved by then."

"Do you think they've forgiven me?" Don asked, serious.

Robin shrugged. "I don't know...I've explained it a number of times to them, but I think they still can't understand why I'm trying to work through it with you. I'm still their little girl, and I think they're mostly remembering how hurt I was." She fiddled with her glass, rotating it on the table. "I think if they can see us together again, they'll get it. Although I think they'll still probably be a little frosty to you for a while, particularly my mom."

"I can understand that," Don replied. He could—after all, he still hadn't managed to forgive himself. The hurt he'd caused would still always be there.

"I don't think—" Robin began hesitantly. "I don't think I ever thanked you. You saved my life, Don. You went through hell to save my life. You could have died. Thank you." Robin's voice had choked up a little and her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Don didn't know what to say in reply. Considering the weight of everything he'd had to do, it didn't feel like he deserved thanks. At all.

"Hey." Robin put out her hand and he covered it with his own. "You don't have to say anything. I just—I needed to say that. You don't have to say anything."

A nod was his acknowledgement. Don took another sip of water and an awkward silence descended. Don didn't think that he'd ever be able to regard what he had done as necessary and therefore not something he should feel guilty about and hate himself for...or be thanked for. It just wasn't possible.

"So, the De Marco trial," Robin said. "I heard they came back with guilty. Must be a bit of a relief."

It had been, particularly after the interrogation that Don had been through.

"Yeah. Considering the evidence, though, there should never have been any doubt."

"The defence tried to use what's happened because of Claymore, didn't they?"

"Yeah," Don grudgingly said, his lips curling in distaste. "Even me seeing Bradford."

"Oh, great." Robin rolled her eyes. "So we want our law enforcement officers not getting counselling after stressful and horrifying experiences. We'd rather that they implode." She shook her head, her dark expression indicating that she'd probably happily eviscerate the attorney who'd put Don through that. "I get that they were doing their job, and if you had a solid case—"

"Very solid," Don interjected.

"Then it was the only way they thought that they might be able to sway the jury. Doesn't make it right, though."

"Lawyers, huh?" Don said with a wry grin.

"We're a necessary evil," Robin replied with a self-deprecating quirk of her lips.

Their drinks arrived and they made small talk until their pastas followed.

"How is it?" Robin asked after they'd each had a few bites, gesturing with her fork to his plate.

Don swallowed before speaking. "Pretty good. Yours?"

"Not bad." Robin reached forward with her fork and twirled a few strands of pasta off his plate around the tines.

"Hey!" Don protested. "You've got your own this time. Leave mine alone."

"But yours is different than mine," Robin said, a wicked grin accompanying the words. She pulled her fork back, prize in tow and quickly ate it.

"Turnabout is only fair," Don warned, his own fork at the ready to plunder some of her food.

"Go for it." Robin gave a dismissive shrug.

 _Oh, it's on..._ Don twirled as much pasta as he thought he could put in his mouth without being an absolute pig or dropping it when he pulled the fork back, glad to see Robin rolling her eyes with a fond smile.

"Mmm, good," he said after he'd eaten it.

They continued eating in a companionable silence, broken occasionally by a comment from one of them. It was comfortable and normal and reinforced Don's belief that they were going to be okay. There would still be 'Don and Robin', that he had no doubt about now. It was still going to take time to work through, particularly when it came to the sexual aspect of their relationship, but they were going to be okay.

"Now I remember why I don't usually order pasta," Robin said, putting her fork down on her not quite empty plate. "I'm stuffed."

"What, no dessert?"

Robin looked at him contemplatively, twitching her mouth slightly from side to side in thought. "Maybe I can fit in something, if we share?"

"Okay," Don agreed. He finished off his pasta and a waiter came over to collect their plates and give them the dessert and coffee menu.

"What are you thinking?" Don asked, fairly certain what Robin would say, after looking through the options.

"Strawberry cheesecake?"

Yep, he'd been right. "That's fine with me."

Robin propped her chin up on her closed hand, her gaze mellow. "This has been nice. Even with the vest and what might happen tonight or tomorrow."

"Yeah," Don agreed. "Hopefully we won't have to worry about all that soon."

"And we can just work on getting on with our lives. Together."

The words were cheesy, and Robin appeared aware of that, but they made Don smile. "Yeah."

Their waiter returned and they ordered the cheesecake—with two forks—and coffee.

"So, the plan is that you go home, right?" Robin asked after the waiter left.

Don nodded. "And you go home with your escort. Leaves him only one easy and obvious direction of attack."

"What if he doesn't come after you tonight?"

They'd already been through what would happen, but Don walked her through it again, knowing that it helped sometimes to hear something more than once. "Tomorrow I just go home from work, give him another night to attack. And if he doesn't then...then I spend the night at your place. On the couch, downstairs."

Robin took a deep breath and pursed her lips together. "No guard."

"No guard," Don agreed. He was her guard and they were hoping that Claymore would buy that as the reason that Robin's normal guard would leave. "It's where this all started. If nothing else works, that will." Robin had known that their last ditch effort would be pretending that he was staying the night, but it was still a difficult thing for her to think about. Don didn't think it was going to be a picnic for him either. "Hey." He waited until she really focussed on him. "It's going to be okay. I am not going to let him hurt you. And you're going to be locked up safely in your room with your gun."

"It's not me that I'm worried about," Robin said, her worry clear in her voice. "It's you getting hurt again."

"I'm going to be fine."

"Can you promise me that?" Robin asked, aggressive from the fear she was feeling.

"You know I can't," Don said calmly. "But we're taking every precaution. He probably won't even make it anywhere near me. That's why we have the surveillance."

"He's smart, Don. You've said that yourself. Don't underestimate him."

"I'm not," Don defended himself, starting to feel like he was under attack. "I know he's smart, but we're doing everything we can to make sure that I'm safe. I'm wearing a vest when I'm not in the office, I'm making sure I'm not going anywhere I don't absolutely need to. We're being careful, Robin, but this is my job. You know that."

"It's not your job to put yourself in the path of a man who wants to hurt you this much."

"Then whose job is it? Another agent? What about their girlfriend or boyfriend or kids or parents?" Don could see tears forming in Robin's eyes. He softened his tone. "Hey. I'm doing my best to remain safe, okay? That's all I can do. I don't want to get hurt, Robin. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure I don't."

She nodded, brushing the tears away before they could sneak down her cheeks.

"I know," she said, sounding choked up. "I almost lost you. When you got stabbed...and then..." She trailed off. "I just don't want to lose you." A rebellious tear welled up, trailing down her cheek. Any other time he'd have been saying, "Come here," and pulling her into a tight hug, his chin resting on the top of her head. Instead all he could do was grasp her hand tightly.

"I can't promise you that I'm always going to be okay. But I'll always do my best to make sure that I am," Don reiterated, the one promise he could make.

Robin nodded, using her free hand to wipe the tears away. "I'm sorry, you don't need this."

"Hey," Don said, with a slight smile, shaking their joined hands from side to side. "It shows you care. I'd rather have that then you not caring. And I feel the same way about you, anyway. Do you know how many nightmares I had that I didn't get to you in time on that marina? Or that Claymore killed you?" His own voice wasn't steady.

They sat in silence, taking reassurance from the other's hand in their own. Robin finally sniffed and rubbed her free hand under her eyes again.

"I must look a mess," she said with a rueful laugh.

"Nah," Don said with a fond smile. "You look beautiful."

Robin looked at him incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. You didn't even smudge your make up. You're beautiful."

That got a slight blush. "And here comes our cheesecake," Don said, giving one last squeeze of reassurance before letting go of her hand.

They took their time with the cheesecake and coffee, keeping the conversation light and just soaking in the other's presence. They paid and got ready to leave, Robin putting her hand in his before they'd walked out the door. It brought another silly smile to his face.

"Microphone is back on, Agent Eppes," came over his earpiece. The agent protecting Robin had followed them out of the restaurant, standing a few feet away from where they'd stopped, still hand in hand.

"I had a nice night," Robin said simply.

"I did, too."

She surprised him by moving forward and relaxing her body against his, her arms coming around his back in a hug and head resting against his shoulder. He put his own arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her hair as he'd wanted to in the restaurant. After a few seconds she tensed up and he released her, stepping back to give her space. Don could see that Robin was struggling with her reaction to him, having started to feel fear.

"I'll see you later," he said, wanting to make it as easy on her as he could.

She nodded and let the female agent turn her around and guide her to the car. Don stood watching them until they had driven off, wanting to make sure they were okay before going to his own car and driving back to his apartment. There was no sign of anybody tailing him, not even the surveillance.

It was harder for him to focus throughout the night; his thoughts kept on wandering back to the dinner with Robin, to how it felt to have her in his arms again, that is, before she'd started to freak out. There was more interaction with the surveillance team than normal, Luke Pettigrew having sensed that something was distracting him.

Like every other night, there was no sign of Claymore.

TBC...


	30. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"Just checking for myself that you're still in one piece."

Don managed to restrain the roll of his eyes that Alan's comment provoked. His dad knew why Don hadn't been by the house, and Don had called him a few times to touch base and reassure him that he was still okay. That apparently wasn't enough.

"You don't have any reason to ban my team from the house yet."

That got a grin out of David, before Don's raised eyebrows had him getting back to work.

"C'mon, why don't we go to the break-room." Don gestured for Alan to follow him, having seen that the room was empty.

"So there's still been no sign of Claymore?" Alan asked. Don could hear the anxiety in his voice as Don fixed himself a cup of coffee.

"Nope." He shrugged as he stirred his coffee. "And I thought that maybe last night might have gotten him to show himself."

"Last night? That was dinner with Robin, right?"

 _Ah..._ The eagerness in Alan's voice to hear the details was obvious, even if he was trying to hide it. He wanted to know how it had gone. Nosy, but Don didn't really blame him.

"Uh huh," Don replied noncommittally, sucking the coffee off his stirrer before dumping the piece of plastic in the trash. "You want one?"

Alan shook his head. There was no reason to not sit down, then, and Don sat at the table, Alan settling himself opposite.

"Okay, okay," Alan said when Don remained silently staring at him. "I admit it, I had a dual purpose for visiting. But if you were dropping around the house, I'd be asking you about it then."

Don still didn't answer, taking sips of his coffee instead and hiding his grin behind the cup when Alan gave him an exasperated look.

"How did dinner go?" Alan finally asked.

"Fine," Don answered. He had to grin again when Alan raised his eyes to the ceiling in frustration at Don's non-explanatory answer. Don decided to have a little mercy, although his private life was his private life and he didn't particularly like sharing details. "We had dinner. We ate, we talked, we held hands, okay?"

"Then things are improving?" Alan asked.

"Yeah," Don said. "Yeah, I think so."

"That's good." Alan nodded, but the expression on his face was troubled. Something was bothering him.

"What's up, Dad?" Don asked.

"You're being careful, right?"

Don blinked. His automatic reaction was to think that it was a bit late for his dad to be giving him the sex talk. Or maybe he just meant with the tension between him and Robin, but that didn't quite make sense. Or maybe it did, considering all the baggage that there was between them. "With Robin?"

"No, that's not what I meant. You're not taking any unnecessary risks to get Claymore, are you?"

What was it with everybody in his life asking pretty much the same questions? Did Don have 'bad FBI agent who has no idea what he's doing' tattooed across his forehead or something?

"No, I'm not, Dad. We've got it covered. He's probably not going to even get anywhere near me, with all the surveillance we have in place."

"What if he gets around the surveillance?"

"That's why I'm wearing a vest and have my gun," Don said calmly.

Alan shook his head, displeased with what Don had said. "Considering what he did to you before, you don't seem to be taking this seriously enough."

Don raised his eyebrows, unable to believe what he'd just heard. Worry did not excuse Alan's comment. "I'm not taking this _seriously_ enough?" He slammed his hand down on the table. " _All_ I've thought about the past week is where he might come after me, how he might get around the surveillance, what weapon he'll be carrying, will he just try to kill me from a distance or get up close and personal. And I'm not taking this seriously enough? Have a little respect for me and my job, Dad."

Don started to stand up, but Alan covered his hand on the table with his own, forcing him to rip his hand out from under it if he wanted to leave. He didn't try, instead just standing there for a few seconds until Alan spoke.

"Donnie, please... I'm sorry."

Don lowered his butt back onto the seat, willing to hear what his dad had to say, but still angry. The removal of Alan's hand over his allowed him to pull his back.

"This has been hard for me, Don."

"It's been hard for me, too, Dad."

"Did you watch your son nearly kill himself?" Alan snapped.

Don flinched and lowered his eyes to the table. How would he have felt if it had been Charlie, or his dad, or Robin in the same situation? It would have been devastating.

"So excuse me if I'm worried about you. I just... I know how well you can hide how you really feel, Don. And...and I'm worried that you're not...coping as well as you seem to be, and that maybe..."

The anguish in Alan's eyes almost physically hurt Don, anguish that he'd put there through his actions.

"I'll let him kill me?" Don asked quietly after checking to make sure nobody was going to walk into the room, knowing that as much as he might want to avoid this conversation, he couldn't. And this was something he could reassure his father about, anyway. There was no reason to let him worry about something that wasn't a problem. "It's not going to happen. I'm not suicidal any more." Alan was looking at him like he was trying to see the truth in Don's eyes. "It's not going to happen," Don repeated, putting as much conviction into the words as he could.

"Okay," Alan said, visibly pulling himself back together. "Okay. I'm sorry, Don. I've just been so worried about you."

"It's fine, Dad. We're fine."

"So, holding hands, huh?" Alan changed the topic of conversation, moving it back into safer territory with some effort.

"Yep," Don said. "She even kissed me on the cheek."

Alan smiled at him, worry still present in his gaze but a little more hidden. "That's a big step forward."

"Yeah," Don agreed. But they still had a long way to go.

* * *

Don had a feeling that tonight was the night that Claymore was going to show himself. It was like they were going back to the beginning: Don and Robin in Robin's house, ready to have a nice evening. Back to normal and back together, Claymore just a tiny blip in their lives. They were showing Claymore that he hadn't succeeded in his goal of destroying Don or his relationship with Robin. It was going to tip Claymore over the edge into reacting—every one of Don's instincts said so.

His sleep in the office had been restless, his nerves and thoughts about what could happen invading his dreams once he did manage to finally doze off. Then he'd woken early and not been able to fall back asleep, so he'd gotten up and started his 'work' day. Of course, the nerves that had stopped him from sleeping had translated into an inability to concentrate or focus on anything while awake. He hadn't felt like this before an operation since he'd been a young and very green agent.

With the need to stay in the office, he was limited in what he could do without annoying his team and every other agent in his area of the office. He could go to the gym and bash the crap out of a punching bag or go for a long jog on the treadmill—almost certainly guaranteed to calm him down—but he didn't want to tire himself out before the operation. Which left him with annoying every other agent in spitting distance. He knew it was bad when it got to the point that David asked him whether he should call Bradford to come and talk to him.

So when Charlie turned up in the office, speaking to David for all of a minute about a case that could have been discussed on the phone and then wanting to just 'chat', Don suspected collusion. Not that he blamed David, Don was starting to annoy even himself. They ended up in the break-room, deja vu of the previous day, Don not able to even force himself to sit down.

"Man, I don't think I've ever seen you like this," Charlie commented.

"Yeah?" Don responded. "I don't think I've felt like this since my first year as an agent."

"You're—" Charlie hesitated. "Um, you're not going to be like this tonight, are you? I mean—"

"It's okay, Charlie," Don reassured him. "I'll be fine once the operation starts."

"So I gather that you think that Claymore is going to turn up tonight?"

Don stopped himself with an effort and leaned against one of the benches, hands supporting him on either side. "Yeah. I think he is. And don't tell me you didn't already run the math on this."

Charlie shrugged and smiled slightly. "You've got everything covered, right? I mean, Claymore is smart..."

Don nodded. "We've got several surveillance teams. Odds on he's not even going to get anywhere near Robin's front door."

"Got to be weird."

"Hmm?"

"Going back to Robin's," Charlie said.

Was it weird? Not so much weird as intimidating, Don decided. It was part of the reason he was nervous, with the bad memories associated with the last time he'd been at Robin's house. Flashbacks and feeling uncomfortable there was almost inevitable. He scratched at his cheek and decided to downplay it. "A little."

The look that Charlie gave him said that he didn't buy what Don had said, he knew that there was more to it then that, but he was going to let it slide.

"Dad said that you had a good dinner with Robin."

"It was good," Don agreed. "We're getting there."

"So you think that you'll get to propose to her, some day, then?"

Don let his developing grin answer for him. That he had no doubt of, now. It was going to still take a while, but he could wait.

"How's the wedding plans coming?" Don asked.

Charlie let out a big and frustrated sigh, causing Don to chuckle, and proceeded to grumble about the entire process.

* * *

Oh, yeah, Don had been right about the intimidation factor. Standing on Robin's doorstep, waiting for the agent guarding her to answer the door after he realised that his key didn't work any more, her locks having have been changed like his... Don took a few slow and deep breaths to try to settle himself down.

The last time he'd been in this house he'd hurt and terrorised Robin. He'd been completely in Claymore's hands, helpless to do anything other than what had been demanded of him. Unsure as to what his future was going to be, but certain that Robin wouldn't want to be a part of it, assuming he survived.

Timas opened the door and he stepped inside.

"Agent Eppes," she said politely. "I gather you're going to be staying the night?"

"Yes," he replied. "Did Robin tell you what she decided?"

Timas nodded. "You'll follow her to work tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then, Eppes, don't get my charge killed. Her protection is in your hands, now." With the rather ominous sounding words, Timas left and Don shut the front door behind her. Robin and he were now on their own...well, in the house, at least. They weren't really alone, considering the surveillance teams in place and the ear pieces and microphones that they both were wearing. Robin had also declined having cameras in her house, for pretty much the same reason that Don had, so them both being wired was a compromise.

Robin appeared in the entranceway, her arms crossed defensively in front of her. Nervous. She was wearing jeans and a light sweater, which showed that she had the kevlar vest on underneath. As she wouldn't be going out of the house, there wasn't any real need to try to greatly hide the vest.

"Don, hi."

"Hi," Don said, wryly grinning when she snorted slightly.

"Are you going to stand in the doorway all night, or are you going to come in?" Robin asked.

"But it's such a nice doorway."

He followed when she gestured and they made it into her living area. There was the sofa and Don focussed on it for a few seconds, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"It's on my list of things to replace," Robin said quietly, seeing where he was looking. "I've already replaced my bed...and moved my bedroom to the spare bedroom."

"The door's got a lock?" Don asked, wanting to reassure himself.

"Yeah."

"Anything happens, Robin, if you don't have a clear path to the door to get out of here and to one of the surveillance teams, you get in there and you lock that door and don't open it until it's Agent McNamara asking you to. No hesitation and no question. I mean it." He hit her with his best 'I'm an FBI agent and in charge and you will obey me or face the consequences' look.

"Better specify which McNamara you mean," came over Don's earpiece, the McNamara in question sounding amused.

"I mean Fiona McNamara, not her husband," Don clarified.

"Got it," Robin said with a nod, her expression sombre, the arms wrapped around her body tightening. "I guess...we should eat?" She sounded uncertain.

"Probably," Don said. He had to admit, other than the weirdness of being at Robin's again, the fact that they both had live mics was making him uncomfortable and not sure what to say. It wasn't exactly easy to have a normal conversation—well, what passed for normal for them at the moment—when you knew that everybody else was listening in, and that was from the point of view of someone who at least was somewhat used to being wired up. Robin wouldn't be used to it at all. "It's a bit awkward isn't it?" He pointed at his ear, indicating the surveillance with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes," Robin agreed, with a sigh, sounding relieved that he'd brought it out into the open.

"Hey, guys?" Don said, smiling slightly.

"Yes, Agent Eppes?" That was Agent Tillman, who was in charge of the surveillance.

"We're both a little uncomfortable with the wire, so can you just forget anything we say tonight?"

That got a laugh from the surveillance teams and Robin. "Sure, Agent Eppes."

"You hear that?" Don asked Robin.

She nodded with a grin.

"Okay, dinner?"

"Dinner," she agreed.

After they finished eating, conversation gradually getting easier, Don stopped at the foot of the stairs to the second storey, letting his gaze travel up it. Each step he took up it reminded him of carrying Robin, unconscious in his arms. Walking down the hallway, past the spare room where Robin's bedroom now was, Don started to sweat slightly, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. He stopped at the doorway to Robin's old bedroom. The room was mostly bare now and he found it hard to connect to the image he had in his head of what it used to look like. The sick feeling slowly dissipated, the dissociation between the reality before him and what he remembered taking away the memory's power. He let out a slow breath and leaned against the door frame. Robin came and stood beside him, her right hand absently rubbing at her left wrist.

"It's just a room," Don said, continuing to look at it.

"Yeah."

He turned back and headed for the stairs, stopping at the door to Robin's new bedroom. It was partially closed, giving her some added privacy from the constant FBI presence.

"Can I?" Don asked hesitantly.

Robin nodded once, her expression serious. He pushed open the door and entered the room, stopping well away from the bed. The colour scheme for the bedroom set was different, soft yellows that were cheery instead of the mauves and purples it had been before. The walls were a very soft yellow, which added to the overall sunny feel. The head board of the bed was made of a yellowish wood, matching in with the colour scheme. It was also a solid piece of board and rounded, with no points at which anything could be attached or tied. The board at the foot of the bed was similar, but much shorter. Robin shouldn't have had to choose a new bed frame based on whether she could be tied to it. It was wrong and it hurt.

 _This is my fault._ Don made a conscious effort to tell himself that he wasn't to blame, Claymore was. It was something he was still working on, stopping the thoughts and feelings that put all the blame on him. He wouldn't have chosen to do any of this.

Quietly, Don left the room, joining Robin back out in the hall—she hadn't followed him in—and shutting the door back to where it had been. She slid her hand into his as they walked back downstairs.

They talked till ten, when Robin went upstairs to pretend to go to bed. She'd be locked in her room and safe, Don hoped, if anything happened. He was going to stay downstairs.

Don developed a routine: sit for a while in the semi-darkness, then get up and check all the rooms on both floors, other than Robin's bedroom, making sure to stay away from the windows, even though Claymore wouldn't be able to see through the curtains. It was a relief to hear Robin respond each time they had a welfare check. He could hear the feed from her microphone, but she couldn't hear his, unless the surveillance team patched her in.

Washing his hands after peeing and wetting his face to help him stay awake sometime around 2 am, he didn't see the movement out of the corner of his eye until too late. He'd partially turned towards it, hand already moving automatically to his gun when something hard crashed into his temple. Pain exploded and he fell, dazed and unable to control it, striking his head against the corner of the vanity on his way down. Blackness started to fill his vision and he fought against it. If he passed out, he left himself completely open to attack. _Robin_. He couldn't leave her alone. Not after everything that had happened. He could dimly hear a frantic voice in his ear, becoming clearer as he started to win against unconsciousness. The surveillance team, trying to figure out what was going on. He was on his hands and knees and, his coordination and eyesight improving, he got his hand on his gun, but he couldn't draw it in time. Something struck him twice on the side of his head again, giving him no time to recover, and everything went away.

He wasn't awake to feel his body hitting the cold tile.

TBC...


	31. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Pounding, pounding, and more pounding. Oh man, his head hurt, so bad. Letting it all fade away again was so tempting.

 _Claymore_.

Don's brain suddenly turned on and everything came crashing back in. Claymore had attacked him, knocked him out. Well, he assumed it was Claymore. If not, someone else had chosen a very bad night to break into Robin's house. Robin was also in the house, hopefully locked in her room upstairs with her gun to protect herself. Where was the surveillance, their help? There was no voice in his ear...his ear piece had been removed. His chest felt cold and the weight of the vest was gone.

He abruptly opened his eyes, taking a split second to see where Claymore was, and made his move. Claymore was now wearing Don's kevlar vest and was distracted, adjusting the straps. He'd removed Don's jacket, the vest and even Don's shirt, which explained why his chest felt cold. It wasn't the most graceful take-down in the world, particularly considering the fact that Don's eyes didn't want to quite focus and his head spun as soon as he moved, but it was enough. Claymore came crashing to the floor and Don staggered to his feet and drew his gun. Except, it wasn't there. The moment of confusion was enough for Claymore to hook his ankle and return the favour. Don's head hit the floor and he blacked out for a second.

There was no chance to try anything when he was aware again. Excruciating pain suddenly radiated from his right thigh and he couldn't help the yell he let loose. He looked down his body to see Claymore removing a two inch knife from his leg, blood already starting to soak into the denim of his jeans around the wound. The panic that he suddenly felt after seeing the knife was hugely out of proportion to the threat and left him paralysed for a moment, enough time for Claymore to move up his body, the knife held ready to strike again. Don's brain kicked back into gear and he tried to defend himself, frantically trying to keep the knife away. His reflexes and coordination were off and every move that he made hurt his head or his leg. All he got for his troubles were cuts to his hands and arms—there was no guaranteed way to defend yourself when a knife was involved—and he couldn't stop Claymore from plunging the knife into his shoulder, right where one of the bullet wounds had been. This time he let out a strangled scream and the world went hazy.

He felt the edge of the blade against his throat before everything came back into focus. Vision clearing, he saw Claymore leaning over him. The pain from both knife wounds wasn't dying down. He was breathing heavily and his heart was racing like he'd run a marathon. It took all he had not to moan or cry out again, not wanting to give Claymore the satisfaction or Robin any reason to leave her room to try to help him.

He was helpless. Claymore had him at his mercy. Again.

"I've never used a knife before," Claymore said, his tone almost conversational. If Don had any doubt that it was Claymore who had attacked him, the voice would have removed it. The dim light didn't reveal much of his features, making him seem more sinister than he was. "I always used a gun. It's much easier to control two people with a gun. But I _like_ this. It feels more...intimate."

The knife pushed in slightly against his throat and his breathing hitched in reaction. There was a sting, the blade cutting his skin, before the knife was withdrawn slightly again.

"It was you that gave me the idea, actually. That scar of yours, it fascinates me."

Claymore ran his finger lightly down the scar on Don's chest. It caused Don's breathing to speed up as a feeling of revulsion made him want to pull away. Not that there was anywhere he could go, particularly with the knife in play. _This is what Robin felt like._ He wanted to close his eyes and hide from it all, but he couldn't.

"There's nowhere you can go, Claymore," Don said, trying to keep the desperation he was feeling from his voice.

"Oh, you mean your surveillance?" Claymore replied. "Not a problem. They won't be getting into the house any time soon. And Miss Brooks will be helping me get out of here, so unless they want her dead I will be getting away with this." He smiled. "You wanted me to come and get you, here I am."

The surveillance team couldn't get into the house. _Bombs_. Claymore had already shown that he wasn't afraid to use explosives. If he'd set it up the same way that he had the first time... The agents would have to evacuate the surrounding houses and wait for the bomb squad to arrive. With the possibility of phone detonators they couldn't really risk breaching, even with two people in danger from Claymore's actions.

They were on their own, so Don had two choices: he got them out of this mess or he stalled until the agents could breach the house. He didn't particularly like either option. For one, with the injuries he'd already sustained he wasn't in a good position to defend himself, let alone someone else. Or stall, for that matter. Two, Claymore had removed his gun and had him at knife point. Now that he had control of Don he wasn't likely to relinquish it. There was one dim hope in that regard, if Don got the chance. He'd been wearing his backup piece on his ankle and it still felt like it was there. It would be irony of ironies if Claymore had missed the gun and Don managed to take him down with it.

Don didn't say anything in reply to Claymore's words, doing his best to look defeated, helpless and weak. If Claymore thought he was worse off than he was, it could give him an advantage.

"Nothing to say to that?" Claymore viciously dug his thumb into the knife wound on Don's shoulder. The agony brought tears to his eyes and he cried out again. He was close to passing out when Claymore let up on the torture, wiping part of the blood off his hand on Don's stomach. The damage to his shoulder looked bad, from the amount of blood there was on Claymore's hand. It didn't feel good either, but he couldn't see the wound with the way his head was angled. Blood loss was likely to become an issue the further on time went, which meant if he was going to try to do something to help himself he couldn't wait around forever.

"What do you want me to say?" Don managed to gasp out, once the pain had died off a little. Engage Claymore in a conversation and stall was all he could hope to do at the moment. Maybe then he could avoid more pain.

"I want you to explain to me why, after all you've done, your family still loves you and your girlfriend can forgive you." Claymore's tone was cold and his face had twisted angrily.

"Because it wasn't my choice," Don quietly said, knowing that the words would likely provoke anger. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

He fully expected Claymore to retaliate by pressing his thumb into the knife wound again, but instead he pressed the knife down against Don's throat. Don stopped breathing all together, terrified that this was it—Claymore was going to kill him. There was pain as the knife cut into his skin and he could feel more blood starting to trickle down his neck.

Don didn't want to die, and not just because if he died Robin would be in the house alone with Claymore and he wouldn't be able to try to protect her. He had too much to live for—and his dad would be so happy to hear that, to get the final confirmation that, yes, when it came down to it, he wasn't suicidal any more.

Instead of pressing down further, Claymore relaxed the pressure of the knife and Don started breathing again. He couldn't stop showing his fear with the noisy gasps his desperate lungs made as his scared body demanded oxygen.

"You act like you're so much better than me, but you're not." Claymore was definitely angry. "You're good at hurting people. You're capable of it. You enjoyed what you did."

"No," Don denied. He might have been 'good' at hurting people, he may be capable of it, but he most certainly did not enjoy it. There had been no enjoyment of a single second of what Claymore had forced him to do.

"You and Miss Brooks did not put on enough of a show for me last time." The tone of Claymore's voice had changed and it was starting to worry Don. That was excitement, and not the good kind. His worry was proven founded when Claymore ran his fingers through the blood on Don's shoulder, and then down his chest and stomach, leaving a wet trail behind. It made Don's skin crawl, both the touch and knowing that it was his blood.

Claymore paused at the top of Don's jeans, smiling at him and giving him enough time for his stomach to twist itself into knots, knowing that he couldn't stop what Claymore was about to do. His belt was pulled undone, the button on his jeans was slowly popped open and Claymore insinuated his hand between Don's jeans and boxers, stroking his fingers down Don's groin before cupping his hand over it. Don closed his eyes briefly, trying to contain the panic, disgust and sickness that the unwanted touching brought.

"I wonder how much blood you have to lose before you can't get it up any more? You might be in a bit too much pain to move, but no matter, I'll just get Miss Brooks to do all the work." Claymore squeezed, making Don shudder, before removing his hand, leaving behind a feeling of dampness that was soaking through the boxers. _My blood_. Don was starting to feel dazed and detached from what was happening and his body was trembling almost constantly. His brain was trying to protect itself, but if it didn't allow him to focus then it could end up getting him killed.

"Get up." Claymore grasped Don's belt and jeans at his left side, using that and his arm around Don's neck to pull him up so that his upper body was off the floor. The change in altitude made his head spin and he fought again against unconsciousness. The knife wasn't right at his neck, he had a chance to try to do something, but his body wouldn't let him. He was forced to his feet, leaning back against Claymore, the hold on his belt the only thing keeping him upright. His right leg wouldn't take his weight, the pain from the knife wound too bad. The bulge that he could feel against his butt told him that he was right about Claymore and he shuddered.

"Let's go and see your girlfriend," Claymore whispered in his ear.

Walking was excruciating, if you could call it walking when you couldn't really use one leg, and Don wanted to give up and just collapse into a puddle when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Claymore wouldn't let him, instead forcing him up each torturous step. Don couldn't do anything to stop it and even if he was out of the picture, Claymore would still go after Robin. She was supposed to be Claymore's getaway ticket, after all. The world was hazy and Don was barely aware of anything by the time they made it up the last step, Claymore taking more and more of his weight. Unconsciousness was beckoning him. A few more steps and they were outside Robin's closed and hopefully locked bedroom door. There was light coming from underneath the door. The realisation of where they were served like a slap to the face and brought him more fully around, even if things did seem still unreal.

 _I'm sorry, Robin._

Once again he'd failed to protect her. And Claymore would use him against her. Would she have the strength to not open the door if Claymore threatened him or hurt him enough that he screamed or yelled or moaned? She had her gun, but that was meant to be a last line of defence that would not be needed, not their only hope. The surveillance team would be telling her to not open the door, to not let anyone in, no matter what, but Don knew what his decision would be in that situation. If someone outside was hurting somebody he loved and demanding for him to open the door...he'd only have one choice. He'd open the door. All the training in the world or voices in his ear wouldn't stop him.

"Open the door, Miss Brooks," Claymore called, bringing the knife back against Don's throat. "Or I'll kill your boyfriend."

* * *

Listening to someone peeing wasn't fun at the best of times, but when you were starting to need to pee yourself it was torture. As much as Scott Tillman would have loved to have given Don Eppes some privacy by turning down or off the microphone, he really couldn't. If something happened in that minute, he'd never forgive himself and the bureau would have his hide. The tap afterwards added insult to injury and seemed to go on for longer than was needed to wash your hands. He was relieved when it was finally turned off.

A sharply indrawn breath came over the microphone, followed by two thumps and the crash of an object falling.

"Agent Eppes, Don, report," Tillman demanded. McNamara had come to stand beside him, intently listening as well.

There was a moan and McNamara didn't even need his nod to start running, calling out to the other teams over her microphone for assistance.

"Eppes, report. Don, what's happening?" His voice wasn't as steady as he'd like. _How the hell had Claymore made it past the surveillance?_ Assuming it was Claymore. Eppes could have collapsed for some reason, hurting himself in the process. There was another thump and this sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor.

"I heard a crash from downstairs." Robin Brooks' voice this time. She sounded anxious, understandably so. "What's going on?"

"Stay in your room, Robin," McNamara ordered. "Keep the door locked."

Tillman cursed the fact that they didn't have any cameras, if they did then they might have some idea of what was going on. He radioed into control, asking them to alert Don's team and giving them the tac channel that they were using. He'd already isolated Don's earpiece in case Claymore decided to try to use it; it would only hear what Tillman was sending to it directly.

He tried again. "Eppes, can you hear me?"

"I know you're listening, FBI agents." That most definitely was not Don. _Shit, shit, shit._ Claymore had managed to get past their surveillance. "Don't even think about trying to get in here. There are bombs at both doors. I have a detonator and the explosive mix is a little bit more unstable this time."

"Can confirm what appears to be a device at the front door." McNamara again.

Bomb squad. They needed the bomb squad. And in the time that it took for them to get there both Eppes and Brooks could be dead. But they couldn't risk breaching, not after what Claymore had said.

"This is Agent Tillman. What is it that you want?" Maybe Claymore had picked up Don's ear piece as well. There was nothing but silence and the microphone was no longer picking up any noise. He turned the volume up, but there was nothing, not even any ambient noise. Claymore had probably destroyed it.

"This is Sinclair," David Sinclair's voice came across the radio. "I'm fifteen minutes out and have called the bomb squad and ambulance to stand by. Don't, I repeat, don't breach. We can't take the risk that he'll decide to take everyone with him."

"Copy, Sinclair. McNamara you hear that? Don't, I repeat, don't breach," Tillman said. McNamara acknowledged him. Now he had to make sure that Robin didn't do anything stupid. "Miss Brooks, it appears that Claymore is in the house."

There was a gasp.

"Stay in your room and keep the door locked. Don't, I repeat don't, open the door to anyone but Agent McNamara."

"Okay." She sounded shaky but determined. "Do you—has he hurt Don?"

"We're not sure of anything right now, but we're doing our best to figure out what's going on and how to help you both." He debated as to whether he should tell her about the bombs, ultimately deciding not to. "We can't enter the house yet so it's important that you protect yourself, okay?"

"Don't tell me that he's used bombs again?"

He'd hoped to avoid that, she didn't need the added fear. "Yes, I'm afraid he has Miss Brooks. The bomb squad is on their way."

She took a deep breath. "Right."

Over the next few minutes the rest of Eppes' team called in, giving their ETAs. Granger was the closest at ten minutes out. The bomb squad was going to be fifteen to twenty. Whether they'd find Eppes and Brooks alive after that amount of time was debatable. Particularly Eppes.

"Pettigrew, report." There was a pause. "I repeat, Pettigrew, report."

McNamara's repeated calls had gotten his attention. Pettigrew and Howard formed one of the surveillance teams. A feeling of dread was starting to rise out of his gut. That would be one way for Claymore to get past the surveillance—take one of the surveillance teams out.

"Howard, report," he said sharply.

After a few seconds he finally got a reply.

"He jumped us." It was Howard and he sounded shaken and dazed. "Pettigrew is dead. He knocked me out. God. Pettigrew hadn't had any dinner and I didn't—I wouldn't give him any of my food once he ate his own. I should have given him some of my food." The wandering thoughts indicated shock and a head injury.

Luke was dead. Tillman allowed himself a second to reel at the news before pulling himself together.

"Lee and Marr. We're on our way to Howard's position."

It was all spiralling out of control. One agent dead, another injured. Eppes and Brooks at risk, Eppes probably injured. No way to help until the bomb squad gave the go. McNamara had started clearing the surrounding houses, so at least they were reducing the risk for some people.

He could hear sirens in the distance, LAPD units called in to help with controlling the area.

"I can hear yells and screams from downstairs." Robin was distressed.

"Can you patch me through to Robin?" Sinclair asked.

"Done."

"Robin, this is David Sinclair. I know this is hard, but you need to stay in the room. Don would not want you leaving it or opening the door. No matter what Claymore threatens, don't open the door."

They were all very aware that that could be sentencing Don Eppes to death. It would be easy enough for Claymore to kill him and then bust down Robin's door. Robin would make the perfect hostage, Claymore didn't need Don. But they needed time to be able to get into the house.

There was a hesitation before Robin answered, "Okay."

"I mean it, Robin." Sinclair had interpreted the pause the same way he had: Robin wasn't sure whether she'd obey what they said. They needed her to, the longer she was safe the better.

"I heard you."

"Lee here. Howard has a nasty head wound, but I think he'll be okay. Pettigrew was stabbed twice in the chest."

"Stabbed? Not shot?" Granger asked, reflecting the surprise that Tillman himself felt. Claymore's previous MO indicated the use of a gun and that was what they'd been expecting. If he'd incapacitated Don, then he had access to a gun, even if he hadn't brought one. That was assuming he hadn't already taken Howard or Pettigrew's.

"Yes, stabbed."

The following minutes passed slowly, interrupted by radio calls organising the evacuation and the involvement of the LAPD. It was more time that they'd bought, another few minutes less before the bomb squad arrived.

"I can hear footsteps outside my room," Robin whispered. "They've stopped."

The microphone was plenty sensitive enough to pick up Claymore's shouted words through the door.

"Open the door, Miss Brooks. Or I'll kill your boyfriend."

TBC...


	32. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Standing facing the door, gun pointed at it, Robin was terrified. This was a situation she'd never thought she'd find herself in.

"Don't reply and don't open the door."

She obeyed the agent's words, even though she didn't know whether it was the right thing to do. If Claymore hurt Don because she didn't do what he'd said... Don had also told her to not open the door, no matter what, but could she stay strong and not do it if Don was screaming outside? If Don was being tortured? If Claymore was going to kill him?

"Don't, Rob—" Don's shouted words were cut off in a muffled scream.

She pressed her lips together, trying to hold in the sob that was wanting to escape. She wasn't strong enough to do this. Not to just stand by and let Don be hurt. How could she be?

"If you don't open the door, I'll slit his throat."

There was another choked off cry from Don and she had no choice. She couldn't take the risk, not with Don's life. Nobody was helping them and no rescue would be soon enough to make a difference.

"All right," she called back, surprised that her voice didn't wobble. "Just give me a minute."

"Robin, don't do this," David said in her ear. "The bomb squad is ten minutes out. We need to stall. You let him in that room and you put yourself at risk."

"Stall for ten minutes? When he's threatening to kill Don? He could just kill him and kick the door down. I'm sorry, but I can't. He's hurting Don. I just—I can't. What do you think that Don would do if the situation was reversed? What _did_ Don do when the situation was reversed?"

Opening that door would be the hardest thing she'd ever done, she knew that. Despite her words, she was just as terrified as she had been when Don had been hurting her. She knew that she was putting her own life at risk, but how could she not?

"Okay," David said with a sigh. "Just don't put down your gun. No matter what he threatens, you need to keep your gun."

"Your minute is up," Claymore called. "Open this door or I'll kill him." There was another groan from Don, Claymore reiterating his point.

"Okay, don-don't hurt him." Her heart was racing at a million miles a minute. She kept the gun in her hand aimed at the door as she unlocked it and pulled it slowly towards her before backing up into the room, her other hand coming back up to support the gun.

Claymore had been standing to the side of the doorway and he stepped into view, dragging Don with him. Her stomach plummeted and she let out an involuntary gasp when she saw Don. There was blood everywhere. His neck, where Claymore held the knife against his skin, his head, his shoulder. There was so much blood on his shoulder, streaking down his front and side from it. A trail led down the middle of his chest to the top of his jeans and there were smears across his stomach. There was another wound on his thigh, blood darkening the jeans around it. She had seen a lot of crime scene photos, become somewhat desensitised to the obvious violence, but this physically hurt her. She looked back up to Don's face, seeing the pain, tiredness and fear there, not masked. He wasn't trying to hide it, or couldn't hide it, and that scared her more.

They moved forward into the room and she backed up another step. The wound to Don's leg meant that it wasn't supporting his weight, Claymore was half holding him up. She gave herself a mental shake, she couldn't fall apart. She needed to give the agents outside what information she could, without alerting Claymore that she was doing so.

"You stabbed him. He's not...he's not going to be much he-help to you as a hostage if he bleeds out from that shoulder or leg wound."

"You're doing well, Robin," Tillman encouraged her.

"Who says I want him as a hostage?" Claymore's words made her blood run cold. "I only need one."

"What now?" she asked, getting angry at what Claymore had done to Don. The feeling was somewhat akin to when Buck Winters had been on the run, although there was more fear mixed in this time. She wasn't going to be the stereotypical helpless female, letting Claymore do what he wanted to her. With the gun she had some power. She'd been helpless with Don, in more than one way. This wasn't the same, she wasn't going to let it be, even if Claymore could control her with Don. The longer she could stall, the more of a chance she gave the agents outside.

"I went easy on you two last time, normally I would have asked for a lot more from you. But then, Agent Eppes here provided me with what I needed, anyway, didn't you, Agent?"

 _What does he mean? Don, what happened to you?_ She had a feeling that this was what Don had been keeping from her. Don slowly closed his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, before reopening them, pain more apparent. But it didn't seem like it was just remembered pain and she looked more closely at his body. Claymore was a rapist...and Don's belt was hanging undone, the ends free. The front of his jeans gaped slightly open. Horror filled her. _Please, please tell me that he didn't rape you, then or now. Please. Not this as well._

Claymore gave a cruel smile, looking from Don's face beside him to hers. "He didn't tell you about this, did he? The fun we had? You know that I filmed the two of you, well, Agent Eppes enjoyed watching them, especially the last video."

"Tillman, isolate Robin's microphone to you. Isolate it to you _now_ ," David ordered, urgent.

"In fact," Claymore continued, "he enjoyed watching it over and over and _over_ again, just as I enjoyed watching him watching it. And I mean _enjoyed_ , Miss Brooks. And your boyfriend heard every second of it."

It was better than the worst things that had been going through her head, but not by much. Claymore was sick. What he'd put Don through was a sexual assault and no wonder Don didn't want to tell her. Between the shame that he had to be feeling at what had been done to him and his need to protect her... That didn't stop her from wishing that he'd told her. Yeah, knowing that Claymore had used videos of her to get aroused and likely to masturbate to was disturbing and she was sure would impact her more fully later on, but she could have helped to support Don through the trauma he was feeling. David knew what Claymore was going to say, it seemed, so Don had at least told someone. He'd probably also talked to Bradford about it. And maybe Tillman had managed to cut the radio off in time so that everyone else didn't have to hear. All she could hope was that Don's jeans being open meant something else, not that Claymore had physically assaulted him this time.

"Don, it's okay," she said, nodding at him. She could see his self-disgust and wished that she could alleviate it.

"Lose the wire and ear piece," Claymore said abruptly.

"Wire?" Robin stalled, acting like she had no idea what he was talking about. He'd known about it, she was sure. He'd wanted everyone to hear about what he'd done to Don, to humiliate him more.

"I know that you're wearing a microphone and earpiece. Remove and destroy it this instant or you'll find out how much more blood Agent Eppes here can lose."

She didn't give the agents a chance to give her advice, plucking the earwig out of her ear and dropping it to the floor before following it with the microphone. They crunched under her sneaker as she grasped the gun with two hands again. Her arms were starting to ache from holding it in front of her, not used to having to maintain the stance.

"Now we have time for you to put on a show for me. You might have to do the driving, though, Miss Brooks. I don't think that Agent Eppes is quite up to that."

The thought of what he was implying made her feel sick to her stomach, particularly considering that she didn't know what he'd already done to Don. But if he was going to kill Don, if that was the only other choice, could she do it? It could give the FBI the time they needed to be able to get into the house and she could try to stall. If it kept them both alive... _Don, now I understand what you went through._ How could she make decisions like this? She looked at Don and his eyes caught hers. There was nothing that she could read in his expression that could help her make the decision. He was barely holding on. If she did as Claymore asked, she had a feeling that it would be the end of her and Don. _That doesn't matter, if he's still alive._ But would he be, or would this push him back to suicide?

Claymore let her think in quiet, probably sure as to what her decision was going to be. It couldn't be anything else. She made her choice and looked back at Don, hoping he could forgive her or at least understand why she was making the decision. Except his eyes had closed and he'd slumped in Claymore's hold, unconscious. Claymore was having trouble keeping him upright, with now having to support all of Don's weight, and the knife had moved away from his throat.

"Don!" The word was out of her mouth before she'd even thought, as automatic as breathing. Her decision didn't matter now, Don was out of the equation. A siren started up outside, close and then gradually fading into the distance.

* * *

Colby put his earpiece in in time to hear Robin say, "What now?" He'd managed to shave a minute or two off his ETA and had geared up in record time. Tillman, McNamara and David were the only people who were patched into Robin's ear piece to avoid distracting her, but everyone could hear her microphone.

"I went easy on you two last time, normally I would have asked for a lot more from you. But then, Agent Eppes here provided me with what I needed, anyway, didn't you, Agent?"

As Claymore spoke, Colby was assessing the scene, joining McNamara, who was the closest person to the house. They'd left a wide perimeter in deference to the bombs.

"He didn't tell you about this, did he? The fun we had? You know that I filmed the two of you, well, Agent Eppes enjoyed watching them, especially the last video."

That made Colby grit his teeth in anger. Hadn't Don been put through enough by Claymore without adding that?

"Tillman, isolate Robin's microphone to you. Isolate it to you _now_ ," David ordered. The urgency in his voice indicated that there was more to come and he wanted to spare Don having everybody know. Colby really did not want to know how much more worse it could get.

"In fact," Claymore continued, "he enjoyed watching it over and over—"

Claymore's voice stopped mid sentence. Half a minute later, Tillman spoke, anger in his voice.

"He made her destroy the wire. We've now got no way of knowing what's going on and the bomb squad is still going to be another five minutes."

"We have to breach," Colby said into his radio. "He could kill them in the time it takes for the bomb squad to arrive and disarm the bombs. We know he's upstairs, it gives us a chance to enter without him really knowing."

"And he could blow the house if we do," David countered. "Then we don't just end up with Don and Robin dead, we end up with dead agents."

"I'm willing to take that risk," Colby said.

"Me too," McNamara added, nodding seriously when he looked at her questioningly. She was an FBI agent first and foremost when on duty.

It was a few seconds before there was a reply from David. Colby knew that it would be a hard decision to make, but he was fairly sure which way David would go.

"Okay," David said with a sigh. "Granger and McNamara will breach. But if it comes down to it, and you can't easily take Claymore out, you need to stall so that we can get the bombs disarmed. Be careful."

"Will do," Colby replied. He took a deep breath. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," McNamara said.

They ran across the yard, past the front door to one of the windows. Colby poked his head around the edge of it, trying to see through the curtain into the house. It didn't help, his view was blocked. He'd just have to trust that Claymore was still upstairs. At least the window didn't appear to be wired to anything, that was a plus.

"Hey, somebody want to give a whoop of a siren?" Colby quietly said into his radio, gun held at the ready to break the window. Claymore knew that the FBI was outside, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise to him to hear it. A second later, a siren started up and he used the butt of his gun to break the glass above the lock. The siren continued, the vehicle moving away, making it seem like its use was legitimate. He opened the window, moving the curtain aside a little so that he could see into the room, gun aimed through the gap. As he'd expected, there was nobody there.

McNamara entered first, eyes sweeping the room as he joined her. A few moments later they'd both adjusted to the dimness. They were in the living room area, the stairs across the room. Voices were coming from upstairs, indistinct, indicating that Claymore was still up there. McNamara gestured to him as they crossed the room. What looked like a balled up shirt and Don's jacket were lying abandoned on the floor, not far from some dark stains. He crouched down beside the stains, trying to get a better look as McNamara kept guard. It was blood and there was a reasonable amount of it. If it was Don's and he was still bleeding that much he'd likely be heading towards big trouble. The shirt and jacket indicated that Don likely wasn't wearing his vest any more and Claymore probably was.

"There's blood in the living room," Colby said quietly into his radio. "A lot of it. Claymore is probably wearing Don's vest. Heading upstairs, there's voices."

"Copy," David said. "I'm on scene. Ambulances are standing by."

They carefully made their way up the stairs, being as quiet as possible, guns pointing up. There were small dark stains on the stairs: more blood, falling in droplets. Light was shining out into the hallway from Robin's new bedroom and the voices were starting to get clearer.

Then there were three shots, two almost simultaneous and one following after.

Colby's stomach plummeted. They were too late.

TBC...


	33. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"Now we have time for you to put on a show for me. You might have to do the driving, though, Miss Brooks. I don't think that Agent Eppes is quite up to that."

 _Agent Eppes isn't up for anything,_ Don thought. He was barely even managing to stand, even with Claymore's support, and he was starting to feel more than fuzzy. Although he wished that he could do without Claymore's support; being up against his groin was not fun, particularly when Claymore seemed to be enjoying himself more and more. Robin looked at him and her eyes caught his. What he saw there worried him—she was actually entertaining the thought of doing what Claymore had asked her. He didn't want that.

This had to end, before he did pass out or was too weak to do anything to help. The knife wasn't so close to his throat at the moment, if he effectively collapsed, putting all his weight on Claymore, he shouldn't get his throat slit and he might be able to get Claymore to drop him. That would give him a chance to go for the gun on his ankle and shoot the son of a bitch.

He closed his eyes and let his whole body relax, needing to pretend to be unconscious. Claymore was struggling to hold him up and he heard Robin gasp out his name. A siren started up seemingly right outside the house and started to move off. Don could feel that it had distracted Claymore and used the opportunity to his advantage, opening his eyes and trying to push the arm around his neck away.

"Oh, no you don't, Agent Eppes," Claymore growled at him.

Don kept struggling, despite the pain that every move he made sent through him, sensing that, despite the words, Claymore's grip was weakening. His hands were slippery with Don's blood, making it hard for him to hold on.

"Let him go!" Robin called out, sounding remarkably steady. "Or I'll shoot you."

Don finally got Claymore to let go and he crumpled to the floor, trying to direct the fall to a few feet away from Claymore, already reaching to his right ankle. His right leg wouldn't let him stand and hitting the floor almost made him black out. It took him several seconds to fight through the spots filling his vision and make his hand grasp the gun that was still on his ankle. Robin was shouting at Claymore, although he couldn't make out the words, his hearing having faded as well.

Gun in hand, he rotated his upper body towards where he was sure Claymore was and aimed. Firing one handed without much support for his body was a little awkward, but he could do it. He had a split second to see that Claymore had swapped the knife for a gun and it was aimed at him. With the vest, Don had three choices to do damage: head, legs or arms. Claymore hadn't pulled the groin shield on the vest down, which meant that his hips were also a valid option. Considering he was on the floor and it was a bigger target to aim at and if he was a bit low he'd still do damage, he chose Claymore's left hip. Hoping his fuzzy vision would let him aim true, he took the shot. There was another bang as Claymore's leg went out from under him and Don realised that Claymore had fired as well. The bullet went wide, thanks to Claymore falling, and Don raised himself as far off the floor as he could, aiming at Claymore's head this time.

"Put the gun down!" he shouted, training kicking in, knowing that he needed to end this very soon. He could feel his strength starting to fade, the adrenaline burst that had been propelling him forward running out. Claymore didn't obey, instead starting to raise his gun towards Don again. The next seconds were as automatic as breathing for Don. Claymore's arms hit the floor and he was still, the bullet hole in his head telling Don that he wasn't going to move again. There was no satisfaction at having finally ended the threat Claymore posed, just tiredness and pain and some surprise that he'd managed the shot. Don's body decided enough was enough and he fell back to the floor, not able to control his descent and try to cushion the impact against his shoulder. Pain flared and this time he couldn't stop the blackness.

* * *

Colby and McNamara moved cautiously along the hallway to the open door. There'd been no sounds since the gun shots, no voices or anything. Colby was dreading what they were going to find. There was a chance that Robin had shot Claymore and the threat would be over, but he thought it more likely that Claymore had switched from the knife to a gun and they might find Don, at the very least, dead. They covered the doorway, rapidly moving into the room once they saw the tableau. Both Claymore and Don were on the floor, one glance at Claymore all that was needed to know that he had to be dead. Robin stood near the windows, still holding her gun pointed at Claymore. The gun abruptly came up to aim at them, recognition absent from Robin's gaze. She was in shock and wasn't aware that they weren't a threat.

"Robin," Colby said softly, slowly removing one hand from his gun and putting it up in a non-threatening gesture. "It's okay, you're safe. You can lower the gun now."

"Robin, it's Fiona McNamara. You're safe," McNamara reassured her. She was the person who Robin was supposed to listen to and clearly not Claymore, so maybe she would have better luck. "Please lower the gun."

It worked. Robin's eyes seemed to refocus and she blinked, lowering her arms, bringing the gun down to aim at the floor. "I didn't... I froze. I didn't shoot him, Don did." Her gaze travelled from them to Claymore and then over to Don and it was like she fully came back to herself. "Oh, God, Don."

At a gesture from Colby, McNamara went to deal with Robin while he knelt down beside Don. The sheer volume of blood covering him was disturbing and Colby felt relief when he found a pulse. It was too fast, but it was there.

"Claymore is dead," Colby said into his radio. "Robin is—"

"I'm fine," the woman in question said.

"—unhurt and Don is unconscious."

"EMTs ask you to advise on his condition," David said as Robin rushed past him out of the room.

"Stand by."

Colby looked at McNamara questioningly as she came to join him, putting her hands over the wound on Don's shoulder to apply pressure. It definitely looked to be the worst wound at a cursory glance.

"She's getting towels, to try to help stop the bleeding." Her eyes travelled down Don's body, assessing him just as Colby was. "Granger," she said grimly, lifting one hand off the wound and pointing at the top of Don's jeans before replacing it again.

Colby's heart sank. Don's belt and the top button of his jeans were undone. Not wanting to do it, but needing to know, he lifted the material. Don's fly was partially down and there was mostly dried blood on his boxers.

"Oh, man."

After everything else, that Don would have to deal with rape on top of it... Colby looked at Claymore's body. The man was very lucky that he was already dead.

"Claymore's belt is still done up," McNamara pointed out and he looked and saw that she was right. "It may not be as bad as it seems."

Robin came back into the room, several towels in hand, and she joined McNamara with providing pressure on the wounds. Colby really hoped that she didn't notice what they had, or hadn't already noticed it. But from the way her eyes lingered on the top of Don's jeans and she gulped, he thought that she had. Maybe she at least hadn't seen the blood. On the other hand, her knowing that something had happened could be a good thing. Don would need support.

"Don's got two stab wounds, one to his shoulder and one to his thigh," Colby said into his radio, already having made the decision to leave the possible sexual assault out of what he relayed. Don didn't need everyone to know it. "The one on his shoulder seems worse, it looks like he's lost a lot of blood from it. He's also got some shallow cuts to his neck, but they seem to have mostly clotted, and it looks like he's taken a few knocks to the head. His pulse is faster than it should be and not very strong and his skin is cool. Are EMTs going to be able to get in here or are we going to have to bring him out?"

"The bombs are still there, you're going to have to bring him out. The EMTs say we can't wait, he needs treatment. Try to keep pressure on the wounds."

"Okay," Colby said. He put his hands beside Robin's on the towel she was pressing on Don's thigh and looked at her. "You got some things we can use to tie the towels in place?"

She scrambled to her feet, leaving him to move his hands to directly cover the wound, and ran to a chest of drawers, coming back a few seconds later with some scarves. He had to snort and shake his head at the irony.

"I think I'm going to be moving out of this house," Robin said, glancing back at Claymore's body.

"You can always stay at Don's apartment," McNamara suggested. "While he's in the hospital."

"Are you kidding? Like Alan is going to let her go anywhere other than the house," Colby scoffed, taking the offered scarf and using it to tie the towel into place, taking care to make sure it wasn't too tight.

"You're probably right," Robin replied, her lips quirking slightly.

Don moaned and his eyes slowly opened, attracting all their attention. There was a world of pain in his expression, but Colby was relieved to see him regain consciousness.

"Don," he said, trying to get Don's attention. "Don." When Don's eyes finally focussed on him he continued, "Are you hurt anywhere else other than your shoulder, leg, neck and head?"

"No," Don murmured. "That's not enough for you?"

Considering what he'd seen, Colby wasn't sure whether he believed him. "Okay. Don, you need to try to remain awake. We need to get you out of here, and it'll be easier if you're awake."

"Bombs haven't been disarmed yet?" Don asked, his voice still weak. "What the hell are you doing in here then?"

"You're welcome," Colby said, internally rolling his eyes. The man could be dying and he'd still worry about his team. "This is probably going to hurt."

"What else is new."

"Here, take my hand," Robin said, kneeling down beside Don's right arm and grasping his hand in hers.

It was awkward tying the towel on his shoulder in place, but they finally managed it. Don hadn't been able to restrain his groans, and from Robin's face the hand that she'd given for him to squeeze had come close to having broken bones. He'd passed out again towards the end of the process and Colby gave him some light slaps across the face to wake him. The glare that Don had given him would have had more power if he hadn't looked like he was going to pass out again.

Getting him to his feet was harder and nearly resulted in Don fainting again, but they finally had him up and leaning on Colby, his right arm around Colby's neck and Colby's left arm around his waist. With the injury to his left shoulder, it wasn't going to work to try to put his left arm around McNamara. It took a few steps before they managed to work out a rhythm that kept most of the weight off Don's right leg and kept him upright. Taking most of Don's weight wasn't fun for Colby, but it was doable. They slowly made it out of the room and down the hallway to the stairs, Don gritting his teeth and grunting in pain with every step. The little strength he'd seemed to summon was rapidly leaving him, meaning that Colby had to support him more and more. The first two steps down the staircase tore a groan from him.

"We should stop," Robin said anxiously from behind them.

"We can't," McNamara answered her. "We need to get out of here and get him to help."

The third and fourth he managed to pant through. The fifth rendered him unconscious and he nearly slipped from Colby's grasp. McNamara had been in front and she stepped up under Don's left side to give added support. It didn't matter, now that he'd passed out. They finally got him down the last few steps and dragged him across to the window they'd come through. There were two agents outside, ready to help them, dressed in the gear of the bomb squad. Passing Don out the window ended up being easier than Colby expected and the two agents took over, rushing Don past the perimeter that everyone else was keeping to a gurney and the waiting EMTs.

Colby helped Robin and McNamara outside and followed after them as they all hurried to safety. The EMTs hadn't loaded Don in the ambulance yet, stabilising him a little before they moved him. David, Liz and Nikki were all standing nearby.

"You okay?" David asked, a concerned expression on his face.

"Yeah," Colby replied, pulling him away from the other agents to give them some privacy.

"What?" David said, brow furrowing.

"His belt and the button on his jeans were undone, his fly was partially down and there's blood on his boxers," Colby quietly told him.

David brought his hand to his face, covering his mouth, and looked towards Don, trying to contain his reaction.

"Claymore's belt was still done up, so maybe it's not as bad as it seems, but..."

"Something happened," David finished for him. He looked back at Colby. "Go with him to the hospital, let the doctors know what to check for."

The EMTs were just loading Don into the ambulance, so Colby jogged over to join them. Don was still out to the world, but now he had help. He had a chance.

And Claymore could never come after him again.

* * *

David took another minute to centre himself, after Colby's news, before joining Robin, Liz and Nikki. Robin was still staring in the general direction that the ambulance had taken, a lost expression on her face. She looked fully dressed and that was a relief to David.

"Are you okay?" David asked her.

Finally seeming to notice the people around her, she looked at him before collapsing like gravity had suddenly increased tenfold and was pushing her down.

"Whoa!"

Liz reacted quicker than he did, stopping her partway to the ground and pulling Robin with her as she straightened back up. The almost hysterical sobs that started coming from Robin were heartbreaking and Liz didn't hesitate in folding her arms around her in an embrace, Robin's head resting on her shoulder. Nikki shifted uncomfortably, not sure what she should be doing.

"It's okay," Liz said quietly, gesturing with her head for them both to go. "I've got her." An EMT from the other ambulance was heading their way, having seen the commotion.

David found himself reluctant to leave Robin's side, knowing that once he did he'd have no excuse in not ringing Alan and Charlie to tell them what had happened. It was a phone call that he didn't want to make. He was sick of giving them bad news.

 _And this news could be worse..._

TBC...


	34. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The phone was ringing. It was still dark and it took Alan a few seconds to locate it and bring it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Alan, it's David."

His sleep befuddlement cleared and dread started to coil its way around him and tighten its hold, a constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. Don had said that he would ring when they caught Claymore. The only reason for David to be ringing him in the middle of the night was that Don couldn't. That he was injured. "What's happened? Is Don okay?"

"He's on his way to the hospital. He was...he was stabbed in the shoulder and leg."

"How bad is it?" Alan asked.

"He's lost a lot of blood. I really don't know, Alan."

"Dad?"

Charlie had opened the door to his room without him hearing it and was standing in the doorway, looking all of five years old in his pyjamas and with his curly hair mussed up from sleep.

"Don's been hurt."

"I'll get dressed," Charlie said, rushing out of the room.

"Uh, can you get Amita to bring some tracksuit pants and a sweater or something that might fit Robin?" David asked. Alan could hear a female voice in the background.

The dread got worse as Alan got out of bed. "Is Robin okay?"

"She wasn't hurt, but she needs a change of clothes and it's going to be a while before she can get back into her house. Get Amita to ring Liz when you get to the hospital."

"Okay," Alan said, pulling his pants off the back of a chair. David filled him in on which hospital and he hung up the phone and got dressed. His hands were shaking, making it hard to pull his shoes on.

He ran into Amita in the hallway and he told her about David's request. Only then did he realise that maybe Robin needed a change of clothes because she had Don's blood on her. David had said he'd lost a lot of blood. Alan didn't have time to dwell on the thoughts, they had to get going.

Amita drove, probably a wise idea considering how anxious both he and Charlie were.

"What did David say, Dad?" Charlie asked.

"Don's been stabbed, in the shoulder and leg. David said he's lost a lot of blood. Robin hasn't been hurt. That's all I know."

Charlie was quiet for a few moments. "It has to have been Claymore. So much for him getting nowhere near Don."

Alan felt a burn of anger at the agents who should have stopped Claymore getting anywhere near his son. "Yeah."

* * *

"Agent Granger?"

Colby turned towards the voice, that of the 40-something doctor that had seen Don as soon as he'd been admitted to emergency.

"Agent Eppes is stable and on his way up to surgery," the doctor said quietly. "We looked for any obvious signs of sexual assault, but other than what you noted, there was none. The blood on the front of his boxers looks like maybe it could be from a smeared hand print."

Claymore's left hand, in particular, had been covered in blood. So maybe it hadn't gone beyond touching...which was bad enough, but compared to the possibility of rape, Colby would take it.

"There's a few places the blood hasn't soaked through the material that show that the blood was on the outside of the boxers, not the inside. There's no other blood anywhere else on the boxers or his groin area. Agent Eppes also regained consciousness briefly and indicated that he wasn't raped and refused any further rape examination."

Whether they could believe what Don said was another matter entirely.

"Thank you."

Colby cleaned up in the bathroom and made his way up to the waiting room. Nobody else had arrived yet so he called David to let him know what the doctor had said. David was on his way to inform Luke Pettigrew's sister of his death, a job that Colby did not envy him. The disaster the morning had turned into was going to hit everybody hard. And he'd have to keep the sexual assault from Alan and Charlie. That was up to Don as to whether he wanted to share. Colby sat down in a chair and leaned his head back against the wall, allowing his eyes to fall shut.

* * *

The woman staring back at her out of the mirror couldn't be her, Robin decided. It just couldn't be.

She wasn't covered in blood. She wasn't covered in Don's blood. How could something like that happen?

There was a red streak on her cheek, underneath her tear swollen eye, and she wiped at it, needing to erase the evidence. It only made it worse, smearing more on her skin. She looked at her hands. They were still stained red. The tap was running, but she hadn't washed her hands yet, distracted by the image in the mirror. She frantically shoved her hands underneath the stream of water, sickened by the red tinge the water that ran off her hands into the basin below took.

"It's okay," Liz said quietly from her side. "Just let it all out."

Robin hadn't even realised that she was crying and shaking again. She'd stopped for a while, in the ambulance and when a doctor had checked her out, and just felt numb. It wasn't just the thought that Don could die or the violence of what had happened right in front of her, it was the unknown of what had happened to Don before Claymore had brought him up to her room...and it was the decision that she'd made before Don had played possum and brought about the end of the situation. He may have been raped and she'd been willing to add to it to try to save them both. To stall long enough.

"I had to make a choice," Robin gasped out between sobs. "Claymore wa-wanted me to ra-rape Don or he'd kill him." She had to confess what she had been willing to do to someone. She needed to. "I was going to do it, to give more time. And I think...I think Claymore may have already done something to Don."

"Why do you think that?" Liz asked, her tone gentle but urgent.

"Don's...his jeans and belt were undone. Oh, god, if he raped him..." Her sobbing had gotten harder and then it triggered heaving and she hung over the sink, barely having the energy to stand up. She ended up back in Liz's arms, not quite sure how that had happened. Being comforted by your boyfriend's ex...that was surely something that didn't happen every day. Liz wasn't acting like it was freaking her out, and maybe later Robin would feel uncomfortable about it, but at the moment she needed the human contact. There was another hand suddenly rubbing her back, adding to Liz's.

"Hey, Amita," Liz said quietly. She drew back slightly from Robin. "You think you're up to changing clothes?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Robin said, feeling a little dazed and more than a lot wiped out. She heard Amita gasp when she saw the blood on Robin's jeans and sweater. "It's not mine," she said, giving a pathetic laugh that almost turned into another sob. There was no energy available to feel ashamed at being helped by the two women when she changed, after Liz had cleaned up the rest of the blood on her face and hands.

"I wasn't sure what you'd need, so there's an extra," Amita said, holding out the sweater to Liz. There was blood on Liz's blouse, all transfer from Robin's clothes and her hands.

"I'm sorry," Robin said.

"It's not your fault," Liz replied, after glancing down. She took her blouse off and replaced it with the sweater and then the blood was gone.

All that was left was what was under Robin's fingernails. But she could still feel it, it still stained her.

* * *

They hurried along the corridor to the waiting room that they'd been directed to after being informed that Don was in surgery.

"There's Colby," Charlie said, spying the agent sitting in a chair and leaning back against a wall. He looked like he was asleep, but his eyes opened as soon as they were in the room.

"What happened?" Alan demanded, clearly angry now that he was facing one of the people who was supposed to protect Don and failed. Don had jokingly called this mood his 'pissed off papa bear' routine at one point and Charlie thought it was highly appropriate. Particularly considering the fact that Colby did look a bit intimidated.

"Alan, I'm sorry. He—Don was stabbed in the shoulder and thigh, knocked in the head a few times and he's got some cuts to his hands and arms and throat. Those cuts all seemed fairly minor, though. He lost a lot of blood."

"So much for Claymore not even getting anywhere near the house," Alan said scornfully. "Where was the surveillance? They were meant to be protecting him."

Colby's jaw clenched and his gaze hardened. "Getting attacked themselves."

"Wh-what?" Charlie asked, startled, exchanging a horrified glance with his father, who had deflated at the words.

"Claymore attacked one of the surveillance teams. We lost an agent and another was seriously injured."

"He killed an agent?" Alan asked, sounding like he couldn't believe it. "Who?"

"Luke Pettigrew," Colby said.

He was somebody that Charlie knew in passing, having seen him in the office and on some of the operations that he'd helped out on. 'Bottomless pit' was how Don had jokingly described him, with his appetite that never seemed to end. He didn't think that his dad had ever met Pettigrew.

But there'd been another agent hurt. "Who was injured?"

"Leo Howard. He's got a serious head injury."

Howard they all knew, as he'd been one of the agents guarding Don. Charlie could only hope that he'd be okay.

"I'm sorry, Colby," Alan said, his voice full of regret. "I shouldn't have... I know that everyone was doing their best to stop anything from happening to Don."

There was something that both he and Alan had forgotten—had Claymore gotten away again or would Don be safe now?

"What happened to Claymore?"

"Yes," Alan said, glancing at him. "Did you get him?"

"Don got him," Colby said. "You don't have to worry about him any more, he's dead."

"Good," Alan spat out. "I'm glad that he's dead."

"Robin wasn't hurt?" Charlie asked.

"She's shaken up, but no, she wasn't hurt."

Alan and Charlie both sat down, each lost in their own thoughts. They'd been through this too many times, waiting to hear whether Don was going to be okay. Waiting to see whether he made it out of surgery. It never got any easier. Charlie wished that Amita was with him, he needed her. She'd called Liz as soon as they'd arrived at the hospital and gone to meet her. He looked up, and, like she was answering his prayers, he saw her coming along the corridor with Liz and Robin. They weren't walking very fast and Amita and Liz were hovering almost protectively around Robin. Amita came right to him and put her arms around him, hugging him hard. He relaxed into the embrace and hugged her back, just as tight, taking as much comfort from it as he could, before eventually pulling back to kiss her.

"It's going to be okay," Amita whispered to him. "Don's strong."

A nod was all he could manage in reply. He noticed that his dad had Robin in his arms, making soothing noises as he hugged her, a look of sadness on his face, and Liz and Colby were talking quietly out of earshot. Probably about details that Don's family hadn't been told yet, or couldn't be told. Robin probably knew more than they did, having been, presumably, in the middle of it all.

Now they just had to wait.

* * *

It was the second visit of the morning that David really did not want to make. Luke Pettigrew's parents were both dead, but his sister lived in LA and was listed as his next of kin. She'd been relatively composed in front of him, but he knew that she would fall apart after he left. Now he needed to inform the Claymores that their son was dead.

He rang their doorbell and waited. A light turned on inside after a minute and he dimly heard footsteps approaching their door.

"FBI," he said loudly, holding his ID up. The door opened after another few seconds and Dan Claymore looked out at him, a robe covering his pyjamas. "Agent Sinclair, FBI, Mr Claymore."

"This is about Michael, isn't it," Dan said. "Have you finally arrested him?"

"Dan?" Kate Claymore said from behind him. "Who is it?"

"FBI," Dan said, after turning his head.

Kate appeared at his shoulder. "Well, let them in. Don't leave them on the doorstep."

"Agent Sinclair," David repeated again, as he entered their house. Kate guided him into a living room and perched on the edge of a chair, folding her robe modestly around her. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said when Dan had joined them in the room. "Your son Michael was killed tonight."

There were no gasps, no cries of pain. Kate just closed her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, her expression one of sadness. Dan's jaw clenched, but that was it. They'd been saying goodbye to their son for years.

"Did he hurt someone?" Kate asked.

"Yes," David answered, wishing that he could spare them this. "He killed an FBI agent and seriously injured two others."

Kate's face crumpled and she covered her mouth with her hand, giving into tears.

"I'm so sorry," Dan said sadly. "At least Michael can't hurt anyone else now."

* * *

Waiting in the early hours of the morning was somehow worse than waiting at any other time. Alan didn't know why, but for some reason it felt that way to him. Charlie and Amita were quietly talking, hand in hand, Colby and Liz had left with the agent that had arrived to take Robin's statement an hour previously. David had dropped in for a couple of minutes and let Robin know that her house was still standing and would remain so. It was the first that Alan had heard that there were bombs involved again.

Robin had dozed off, curled up in the chair beside him, leaning against his shoulder. She'd been exhausted before giving her statement and had seemed even more so when she'd come back afterwards.

A doctor came into the waiting room. "Eppes family?"

Alan nudged Robin awake and said, "Yes."

"Let me say first that, assuming that none of his wounds get infected, Don is going to be fine. He lost a lot of blood, but we've been replacing that. We've repaired the damage to his shoulder and thigh from the knife wounds. It's possible that he may have lost movement from the knife wound to the shoulder, but we'll be better able to tell that once he starts therapy. All the other cuts he'd sustained were relatively minor and only a few have required stitches. He'll probably just have a very nasty headache from the head wounds. Do you have any questions you want to ask?"

Alan let the others talk, needing a minute to absorb the news.

Don was going to be okay.

TBC...


	35. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Waking up was hard to do, Don found. He only seemed to be alert for a few minutes at a time initially before he was dragged back under by sleep, the lingering effects of the anaesthesia, and the pull of the painkillers that he was on. Not even the pain that couldn't be quite killed by the painkillers, including the throbbing of his head, stopped him from falling back asleep. Or the remembrance of what had happened.

The first time he'd woken up he'd found his dad sitting in the chair beside his bed, snoring. He'd fallen back asleep very quickly himself that time and hadn't woken his dad. The second time, his dad was still there and he had been reading a book. They'd talked for a minute—well, more his dad had talked and he'd responded monosyllabically—before he'd drifted off again. The third time, the doctor had visited and his dad had been kicked out of the room. His injuries and expected recovery had been explained and he'd been asked whether he'd been sexually assaulted. He had a vague memory of being asked it before, when he was examined in the ER. Even though his brain felt fuzzy, he knew that they would have seen that his jeans had been undone and the blood on his boxers. He hadn't wanted to talk about it (or think about it), but he'd told them that he'd only been touched, that nothing more had happened. They'd seemed reasonably satisfied with his answer and left him alone. He'd started wondering who else knew that something had happened. Robin, Colby and McNamara would all have been in a position to notice his jeans. The feeling that they might know wasn't a nice one.

Then there had been visits by the agents who were investigating the officer involved shooting to get his version of events, even if they would have to speak to him again when he wasn't affected by the level of painkillers he was on, and then there had been David. The way that David had looked at him... Don had faked falling back asleep to avoid talking to him any longer.

Once he was more alert he'd asked his dad to tell everyone that he didn't want any more visitors, that he needed time to think and sort through what had happened, and that he'd call when he was done. Alan hadn't tried to talk him out of it, even though he'd only briefly seen anyone other than his dad, but there'd been deep concern in his gaze before he'd left Don alone. Don didn't want to scare him, or any of his family members or friends, but there was so much going on his head that he didn't know how to think or feel. In particular in regards to Robin. He hadn't seen her, she'd apparently crashed very hard and had been sleeping pretty much non-stop since he'd gotten out of surgery.

As much as he knew he shouldn't feel betrayed by Robin, he did. He'd seen her face, he knew that she'd made the decision to do what Claymore had said. It would have bought them more time, he knew that, but it _hurt_. He didn't know what he would have done if Claymore had pushed him to rape her, but he knew what she would. Oh, he understood that in either of those circumstances, both parties were effectively being raped and it would hurt them both, but... Despite all the things he knew intellectually, it still hurt. And even though he knew that it wasn't very different to what he'd done to her (worse in that the assault on him would go further, better in that at least he knew that she didn't want to do it), he couldn't get past the betrayal.

And he couldn't avoid thinking about the assault, as he'd decided to call it (drop anything to do with it being sexual, he didn't want to think about that), even though he wanted to. His skin still crawled and sometimes it felt like he could still feel Claymore's hand on his groin, touching him. He knew that this was going to throw another spanner in the works of getting back to anything approaching a normal life, particularly sexually. It wasn't like there weren't enough hurdles already.

He wasn't that surprised when, after twenty four hours, Bradford turned up at the door to his hospital room.

"May I come in?"

"Depends on whether you're here as my therapist or a friend."

Bradford's lips turned up in a slight smile. "Friend, but it's open to negotiation."

"Come in," Don said with a sigh. As much as he might want to avoid the world forever, he couldn't, and maybe talking to Bradford before he dealt with everyone else was a good idea. Bradford settled himself in the chair beside Don's bed.

"Wow, that doesn't look very edible," he commented on Don's lunch.

It hadn't been, which meant that Don had only eaten some of it. Hospital food was a guaranteed way to lose weight. If he'd been letting people visit him, maybe he'd have been getting some decent food to supplement it.

"Let me guess, one of my family or team asked you to see me."

Bradford shrugged. "Try several. You've got a lot of people who care about you."

"So, how much do you know of what happened?" Don asked, wondering how much he'd have to fill Bradford in on. And how much other people knew to tell him.

"Claymore attacked you. He stabbed you, multiple times, and then used you to get Robin to open her door so he could continue the attack. You managed to take him down."

"That about summarises it," Don muttered.

"Except it leaves out one important detail," Bradford said, his face serious.

Don's stomach started churning uncomfortably. "What detail?" he stalled.

"Claymore sexually assaulted you."

Someone had to have told him. Which meant that someone on his team, or Robin, definitely had seen the state of his jeans. "It wasn't—" Don looked towards the window. "All he did was touch me. It's—It's no big deal." Even he couldn't believe the bullshit that was coming out of his mouth.

"You know as well as I do, Don, that in this state that is sexual assault. And it is a big deal."

There was no way that Don could look at Bradford, so he continued looking at the window, even if he wasn't really seeing it. He'd been sexually assaulted, just like a lot of victims he'd talked to over the years. He was a victim, too. It was a hard realisation.

"He, uh, he had the knife to my throat," Don said, after some silence, his vision starting to blur like there was rain falling outside, spattering on the glass. "And he...he'd already ground his thumb into the knife wound on my shoulder so his hand was covered in blood...my blood. He ran his fingers through the blood on my shoulder, then ran them down the middle of my chest, to the top of my jeans." He was grimacing, almost feeling the warm slickness of the blood on his chest, the unwanted touch against his skin. "Then he—" He closed his eyes, wishing that it would just go away. "I couldn't stop him," he whispered. "He undid my belt and my jeans and put his hand down my pants. And I could feel the blood soaking through my boxers as he—as he squeezed me. When he pulled me up against him, afterwards, I could feel...he was aroused by what he'd done to me, what he was intending to force me and Robin to do. And every step that we took up the stairs he was rubbing himself against me. I couldn't stop him." Don wasn't sure exactly when he'd started crying, but he was. And that was more shame to add to it all. He'd cried more since the whole mess with Claymore had started than he'd ever cried before in his life, other than for his mother's death. At least then he'd been able to largely shed them in private. He used his right hand to rub away the tears, angry at them.

"Crying is perfectly healthy and normal, Don, particularly considering everything that you've been through. Don't feel ashamed of it."

Don just snorted in derision.

"What was Claymore intending to force you and Robin to do?"

"Have sex," Don said quietly.

"Like he forced all those other couples."

"Yeah."

"You weren't in a condition to be the aggressor, but Robin was," Bradford assumed correctly. "Instead of you raping Robin, it would be Robin raping you. After he'd already assaulted you."

There was the feeling of betrayal again. "She had the gun, but she was going to give it up and do what he wanted. She never actually said it, but I could see that she was going to—so I ended it."

Bradford's eyes narrowed as he came to some conclusion and he nodded his head at Don. "You feel betrayed by Robin. You're angry that she was going to make that choice."

Don smiled, mocking himself. "Stupid, huh? After what I did to her to protect her... It's no different."

"Really?" Bradford's tone said that he wasn't sure whether he agreed.

"She was trying to stall, to keep me alive," Don defended her. "Just like I tried to keep her alive."

"But you never actually made the decision to rape her."

"No, I didn't," Don said. "But I terrorised her. To keep her alive..." It was hard for him to think it, but he'd have probably made the same decision that Robin had. "I'd probably have made the same decision. At least I would have known that she didn't want to do this to me. If Claymore had pushed me to do it, she would have thought that it was all me, that I wanted to hurt her."

"You're going to have a lot more issues to work through with Robin," Bradford observed. "But you've both made it this far and, in some ways, what happened this time will allow you both to see the other side. I don't see why you can't get past this, too. You're going to have to let her in, this time, though. You'll need her support to deal with what Claymore did to you."

Don knew that Bradford was right, on all accounts. Being back to normal was just that much further away again, but if he could get through this time without the suicidal thoughts, then he'd be doing well. "Oh, you'll be pleased to know that I'm definitely no longer suicidal. Something I said pissed Claymore off—"

"No? Really? Something you said pissed him off? Gee, what a surprise," Bradford mocked.

Don glared at Bradford, not sure whether he was meaning that Don pissed people off or that anything would have pissed Claymore off.

"Hey, I hear you just breathing in the office was managing to piss people off the other day."

Okay, that was true, if he was referring to the day when it all went down. And unsurprisingly he hadn't exactly been Mr Sunshine lately. "What can I say, I breathe loudly," Don jested, part of him marvelling at the fact that he was making jokes, after all the shit that had happened.

Bradford just looked at him seriously and he decided to continue. He could see what Bradford had done—he'd tried to make it easier for him to tell. For some reason this did feel easier to tell than the rest of it, which was strange, as he'd thought he was going to die. Maybe it would hit him harder later, everything else outweighing it at the moment. Emotional overload.

"He pressed the knife down against my throat and I thought that that was it. He was going to snap and kill me. And I was terrified, I didn't want to die. I had too many reasons to live."

"Do you still feel like you've got a lot to live for?" Bradford asked.

Don thought for a second. He'd been stabbed, he wasn't sure whether he was ever going to regain full movement of his shoulder, which could mean the end of his FBI career—or at the least the end of field work, he'd been sexually assaulted and terrified out of his mind. It all seemed hard to deal with and overwhelming but he knew that he _would_ be able to deal with it and it would get easier with time. Maybe it was just the drugs talking, but he thought that he'd eventually be okay again.

"Yeah," Don simply replied. "I do. I know that this is going to be hard...but I don't want to give up."

"You're making progress, Eppes."

* * *

"Don," David said before pausing, looking off to the side and wiping his hand over his beard. They were up to the questions he didn't want to ask, namely how far had Claymore's assault gone. Don had been doing well with describing generally what had happened, how Claymore had blind-sided him, the attack that resulted in the stab wounds and the events in Robin's bedroom, but he'd clearly skipped the hardest bit for him to talk about. As much as David might want to let it slide, he knew that he couldn't.

"You want to know whether Claymore raped me," Don said quietly, surprisingly calm. "He didn't."

There was no hesitation in the words, nothing to indicate that Don was lying. "Okay," David said. Between Don's tone and the cursory exam in the ER, he could believe it. "But something did happen."

"He put his hand down the front of my pants and touched me while he held a knife to my throat."

There was bitterness and defensiveness in Don's voice and his right hand had clenched on the bed, so David moved back onto the start of the assault, knowing that nothing he could say could really help, and got Don to start filling in the details of the events. It worked, Don relaxed back against his pillows and the tension lines around his mouth started to smooth out.

"How did he get past the surveillance?" Don suddenly asked, a puzzled look on his face. "Why didn't anyone spot him?"

It was going to hit Don hard. He'd feel responsible, David knew, just as David himself felt responsible for it. "He attacked one of the surveillance teams. Pettigrew and Howard."

"Are they okay?" A concerned frown creased Don's forehead.

"Luke was killed, Don. Leo has a serious head injury, but it looks like he'll probably be okay."

Don sank back further on his pillows, his head falling back as a shocked expression crossed his face. His hand came up to his mouth and he blinked rapidly, his eyes damp.

"This isn't your fault," David said after a few seconds.

Don's brow furrowed and he made a noise that indicated that he disagreed. "It was my idea."

"You weren't in charge, Don. It's not your fault. None of us expected this."

The news had really shaken Don. He'd moved his hand up higher and was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed.

"Why don't we finish this up now?" David suggest. "I'll come back later to get the rest of your statement."

Don nodded his head slightly and David got up. "It wasn't your fault, Don," he said one more time before leaving.

* * *

The door to the room was partially closed and Robin knocked lightly before pushing it open and slipping inside the room. She took a second to just look at Don, not having seen him since he'd come out of surgery. Even then, she'd only got a brief look through a window. He was facing towards her, but his eyes were closed and his facial muscles were relaxed—he was asleep. The healing process took a lot of energy. Without all the blood, he didn't look too bad. He was pale and the cuts on his neck and arms stood out, but they looked to be healing well. The bruising and scrapes that she could see on his head looked painful. The worst injuries—his shoulder and thigh—were thankfully covered by his hospital gown and the blanket. He shifted in his sleep and grimaced and something inside her ached. Right now, while he was unaware, he was still hers. Whether he'd stay so remained to be seen. A huge part of her was terrified that she'd ruined everything by her actions. And terrified about what had happened to him.

She walked quietly over to the chair beside the bed, relieved that it was on the side that Don was turned towards. She'd be able to study his face while he slept and reassure herself that he was still there. Still alive. Just like she'd done when he'd finally left Alan and Charlie's after the stabbing. The first stabbing, she corrected herself. There'd been more than a few nights like that and a few times he'd woken up to find her silently sobbing and had just held her until she'd worn herself out and fallen back asleep.

Don's eyes eventually opened and he looked at her. His face scrunched up in a frown. "Hey, you're crying..." He sounded confused and worried. "It's okay." He wasn't sure what he was trying to comfort her about, but he was attempting to anyway.

"I almost lost you again," she said, just as surprised as he was by the anger in her voice. "That's not okay. That can never be okay."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She had to snort at that. "You can't guarantee that."

"Nobody can," Don pointed out reasonably and she had to admit that he had a valid point. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" She was starting to get angry again, even though she knew she shouldn't be. "You're asking me whether I'm okay when you were fucking well stabbed and nearly bled to death? When who knows what—" She cut herself off with effort, but she could see from the way that Don flinched that he knew what she was going to say. _When who knows what Claymore did to you?_ She hadn't wanted to hurt him more. He didn't need this. "I'm sorry," she said, calmer, hating herself for how she was screwing it up. "I probably should go, you—you don't need this right now. Probably not ever."

She was out of her chair like a shot and almost to the door, feeling like her heart was breaking.

"Hey!" Don sharply called. "I love you, Robin. That hasn't changed."

That stopped her. Don never said it much, always more likely to show how he felt by actions rather than words. She turned back towards him.

"Yeah?" she asked, almost shyly, finding it hard to dare to believe that Don would still want to be with her after what she'd been prepared to do.

"Yeah," he replied. "Now, will you get back here? I'm not up to chasing you down the hospital corridors."

She did as he asked, but couldn't look him in the eyes.

"Hi," Don said.

Finally settling her gaze on him, she could see a hint of a smile. He was starting their conversation anew.

"Hi," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged slightly, before wincing. "I have to remember not to do that. But the painkillers are pretty good. Not perfect, but pretty good."

Robin winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not like you stabbed me..."

There was a long list of things that she felt sorry for, so she started with one of them. Not the one that she felt most guilty about, but it was pretty high up there. "I froze. I could have shot Claymore and I didn't. He could have killed you and I would have just stood there and let him."

"Robin," Don started with a sigh, "you're a pretty good shot, but you're not used to having to shoot at people. You're not an FBI agent or a cop, you're a lawyer. There's nothing to be sorry for. To be honest, I'm glad you didn't shoot him. Killing someone—it changes you, and I'd rather you didn't have to deal with that."

"But what if—"

Don interrupted. "As somebody once told me, there's no point in what ifs. It's done, we can't change it, and we're both still alive." He paused and took a deep breath. "And as for what Claymore asked you to do...that's just going to take some time for me to deal with."

This was what she'd been afraid of. "I was going to—"

"You were going to try to save my life."

He couldn't let her off the hook that easy, she couldn't let him. "By raping you." The word was ugly, the thought was ugly, but it was what would have happened.

"I didn't—I didn't say that I'm okay with this. It's—it hurts to know that you made that decision. But I hurt you before and if he'd asked me when it was your life on the line..." Don caught his bottom lip between his teeth. "I probably would have made the same decision."

There was silence for a few seconds. "It's just going to take time," Don repeated.

Robin had been debating on her way to the hospital as to whether she should say anything about what Claymore may have done to Don, or not. And if she was going to say something, what did she actually say? She didn't want to make things harder for him, but she wanted him to know that he could talk to her, when he was ready. The fact that not knowing was killing her, that was irrelevant. Protecting and supporting Don was what was important. She still hadn't made a decision, but she had to now.

"Don, I, uh, I know that something happened with Claymore." Don's expression seemed to close off, so she hurried on, wanting to minimise the hurt. "You don't have to talk to me about it, now...or ever, but I'm here...if you want to. No matter what, I love you." The last sentence was almost a whisper.

Don nodded jerkily, and said a quiet, "Thanks." He looked at the window, which was about as far away from her as he could look without making it seem like he was deliberately snubbing her. "I don't... I want to tell you. But I can't, not yet," he continued, just as quiet. She knew that this was his 'I'm not in a good head-space right now' tone. "Just, I wasn't—he didn't rape me, okay?"

Even just knowing that was a huge relief. It still left a lot of possibilities as to what had happened, but it was the worst possible scenario ruled out. "Okay."

Following a minute of heavy silence, Robin said, "I'm staying in your old room. Your dad wouldn't let me go anywhere else." It was kind of nice. It was definitely a guest room now, but it had been easy to imagine Don practically living in it as a teenager, desk in one corner, baseball trophies on a shelf, posters of his heroes and scantily clad women on the wall.

"Yeah?" Don asked, finally looking back at her again. "Has he allowed my team in the house?"

"David and Colby came by this morning and there was a bit of a tense stand-off on the doorstep, but your dad eventually let them in."

Don gave a slight shake of his head and rolled his eyes.

Another awkward silence descended. "Why can't things ever be easy for us?" Robin asked with a sigh.

"The things that are really worth it rarely are easy," Don said, serious and quiet. "Besides, complicated works for us." The slight smile he was giving her told her that he knew that he was paraphrasing a past conversation, the one that they'd had after he'd proposed and she'd refused.

"There's such a thing as too complicated," she said sourly.

Don's smile widened into a grin and he laughed, causing her to smile in reply. She wasn't quite sure what was funny about what she'd said, but seeing him smile and it almost reach his eyes was worth it.

TBC...


	36. Time to Free the Monster Chapter 36

Chapter 36 - Epilogue

Don sat on the stairs, the perfect vantage point to look out at his family and friends. So much was changing—Charlie and Amita married and going to England, David taking a job in Washington... And maybe things for him, too. For the better, he hoped, although a not so small part of him was looking at Charlie and Amita with envy. There was still so far for him and Robin to go before they'd be at that point. Things were still hard, they were both still recovering from everything that had happened and trying to find out who they were together again. Slow had been their motto, and it had been keeping them both fairly trigger free, but he just wanted things to be back to normal again.

He heard footsteps and turned his head from where he'd been looking at his brother and dad to see Robin walking towards him, champagne glass in hand. Her hair was out, and the blue dress she was wearing highlighted her curves and showed off her beautiful legs. The necklace he'd bought her shone at her throat. She'd started wearing it in the previous week and it had made him ridiculously happy to see, particularly when she'd said, after he'd asked, that it had been given to her by somebody she loved. The taint that Claymore's actions had given it was finally gone.

Robin sat down on the stairs beside him and took a sip of her champagne before placing the glass on the stair beside her and turning towards him. She put her hand up to the back of his head, running her fingers through and playing with his curls. It was always soothing and he loved it as much as she did.

"You okay?"

He looked at her and then back at Charlie. "I want that to be us."

"I know. I do too. We're getting there, Don." She entwined her arm with his and rested her head against his shoulder.

It was the right moment, he decided, to let her know his decision. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head before speaking. "You know that I was offered that Special Agent in Charge gig? I'm going to take it." He'd been surprised, in one way, when he'd been offered the job. After the mess that Claymore had created and the emotional turmoil that he'd been through, he wasn't sure whether he'd be up for the possibility of promotion any time soon or whether he'd been completely screwed in that regard. The prospect of more paperwork wasn't appealing, but it was time for a move. It would also be easier on his shoulder and leg. Yes, he'd been cleared for fieldwork and he had full movement, but his shoulder, in particular, ached on and off. More on at the moment after hitting the pavement with two people on top of him.

She lifted her head back up to look at him, but kept her arm through his. "That's good. I wasn't sure whether you were thinking about quitting."

The thought had been there in the back of his mind. Pettigrew's death, the horrors that his job could put him through, the worry that he wasn't making a difference. He'd kept it to himself, although he'd known that Robin had gotten the sense that something was wrong and it was more than just losing his gun. It had brought it all to a boil and he'd started to wonder whether, if they couldn't get his gun back, it was a sign that he should quit. The time he'd been spending with Bradford had made him realise how crazy that thought was so he'd never vocalised it, but it was there. He shrugged and smiled, slightly self-deprecating. "It's my job. It's what I do. I'm good at it."

"It is and you are." Robin leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet. There were no flashbacks, no repulsion, just a moment that he wished would never end.

"What was that for?" he asked when they finally pulled apart.

Robin just smiled at him and he almost got lost in it. Everything that had been there before was still there in the look she was giving him. They would be okay. He felt a silly grin of his own develop.

Her smile widened. "Don't do that, I might have to kiss you again."

He laughed. "That a promise?"

Robin untwined her arm from his so that she could face him more directly and leaned in again. This time he was a more active participant, putting his hand on the back of her head, feeling the softness of her hair. Extending the kiss and enjoying the rush it brought. When she finally sat back she was flushed and he knew that he was the same. She started playing with his hair again and they sat in comfortable silence.

"It's going to be hard for you, with Charlie gone."

"It's not like we've never lived in different cities before, or even different countries. And it's only going to be a couple of months," Don dismissed, knowing that she was right, even as he did so. Charlie had been a huge support during his recovery and not having him right there would be difficult. Even if it was just to shoot some hoops with, now that he wasn't limping and could raise his arm above his head.

"But that was different. You weren't as close then."

He shrugged in reply and she gave him a fond, but exasperated, smile. Being able to pick and choose what he told people and keep his emotions to himself again was something that he was revelling in, now that things had started to settle. It had been driving Robin a little crazy, he knew, because he was being unpredictable about what stuff he would talk about. But she'd seemed to understand, even without him explaining it.

"So, I was wondering, what do you think about cats?" Robin asked casually, too casually, if he was any judge. She was trying to act like the answer didn't really matter to her, but it did.

"Cats? I take it we're not referring to the musical?" That got a smile. "I like them."

Her grin widened and she kissed him again.

"If I'd known I would have gotten that response, I would have told you months ago," Don jested.

"I want to get a cat," she explained.

"I figured."

"But if you didn't like cats..."

"I was out the door?" Don suggested.

She waved her other hand in a 'maybe' gesture, still smiling. "I want you to help me choose one. I don't want it to just be my cat. I want it to be our cat."

"Really?" She was making him want to kiss her again.

"Really."

"Okay. We could look at shelters next week?" Don suggested. There was no doubt that she'd want a cat from a shelter, one that definitely needed a loving home.

"It's a date."

He gave into the urge and kissed her.

They were going to be okay. He was certain of it.

-FIN-

 _Thank you in advance to any reviewer without a site account (who I won't be able to reply to). I appreciate all comments. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I have other fic in the works, so stay tuned..._


End file.
